


To Seek A Love: Book 4

by Masked_Man_2



Series: To Seek A Love [4]
Category: Othello - Shakespeare
Genre: Bawdy Humor, Cliffs of Insanity, Dark, Dick Jokes, Domestic Violence, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Established Relationship, F/M, Female Friendship, Flirting, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Implied mental illness, Insanity, Love, Madness, Marriage, Marriage of Convenience, Married Couple, Married Life, Mental Anguish, Mental Breakdown, Mental Illness, Mental Instability, Mild Comic Relief, Military Politics, Military Ranks, Multiple Personalities, Multiple Relationships, Nightmares, Originally a roleplay, Physical Abuse, Psychological Drama, Psychological Trauma, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, RPF, RPS - Freeform, Relationship(s), Roleplay, Romance, Sex, Sexual Harassment, Sexual Humor, Shakespearean Language, Sleep Deprivation, Some Fluff, Suicide Attempt, Sympathy for the Devil, Tragic Romance, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Twisted love, Unresolved Tension, Violence, Violence Against Friends, War, Wartime Setting, domestic abuse, implied sex, newlyweds, spousal abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:22:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 105
Words: 40,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24709807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Masked_Man_2/pseuds/Masked_Man_2
Summary: "I must needs return to the Citadel...and I must needs return to my wife."
Relationships: Bianca/Cassio, Desdemona/Othello, Emilia/Iago, Roderigo/Bianca
Series: To Seek A Love [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/691746
Comments: 124
Kudos: 3





	1. Poor Fool, He Must Run Mad

**Author's Note:**

> Last book! To all those that have joined me and Jess on this journey, thanks for sticking with the madness. Sadly, this work was never finished, but I hope you enjoy what's there.

The sight of the young blond man, cursing roundly as he struggled to button a soldier's jerkin a shade too large with one hand, while travailing to smooth a false mustache and beard onto his pasty cheeks, which were otherwise as smooth as a child's bottom, would fain have made even the most obdurate of hearts melt into undue amusement. 

Indeed, Roderigo felt very much the fool at this moment, for he had, as was his wont, slept comfortably past the rising of the sun...only to recall, with grievous alacrity, that he was meant to be disguised as a  _ soldier _ , and thus had to report to the Citadel in the early morn! Had not Iago warned him of the consequences of tardiness among the troops? In faith, cleaning barracks besmirched with the blood, sweat, and grime of war appealed to him not at all....

Therefore he ran through the Cypriot streets yet chill with damp, more quickly than he had ever run before, coughing and wheezing miserably as his lungs seemed to constrict form his haste. Disheveled he appeared for certain, and frantic, too, for his mind raced as he attempted to recall the location of the Citadel, and his eyes, occupied as they were with the assumption of his guise, paid no heed to where his feet took him, even as he realized, belatedly and with much chagrin, that he had likely gotten himself as lost as he had yesternight.

"God's teeth...how could I...." Without his noticing aught, the wide, airy streets, with their shops and inns and homes and inscrutable Greek atmospheres, had disappeared, in lieu of a dark, dank alley, littered with heaps of stinking, fossilized refuse, and what looked to be bones, all resting ominously in putrid puddles of water. A huddled human form lay prostrate at the far end, nearly obscured in sinister shadow. Roderigo twisted his mouth in a wry facsimile of a smile as he neared the figure, looking down upon it with a mixture of disgust and pity. Some drunkard, no doubt, sleeping off a night's indulgence in the filth...where he likely belonged, anyhow. 

"I don't suppose  _ you _ could direct me to the Citadel, my soused friend, now, could you?" he asked, kneeling beside the unconscious man. Heavens, he must have sounded right mad, talking to one who might well have been a lifeless sack.... Odd, though; he smelled not of any discernible liquor, but rather of...damp leather, perhaps? The scent was disconcertingly familiar....

A slight shiver of what might have been trepidation ran through his blood at that moment, and with hands shaking from suspicion ever-growing, Roderigo turned the body over, dreading what he might find....

"My God...." That face...that sharp, dark face, expressionless in insensibility as it was in life...God, but he knew that face! " _ Iago _ ?"

Barely daring to breathe, Roderigo grabbed his comrade underneath the arms, hauling him through the soaked streets with all the meager strength he possessed, cursing the pain emanating from his still-tender arm as he did. He had to find...someone, anyone! The young lieutenant, perhaps, or the savage Moor...they would know what to make of this! ...Would they not?

  
  



	2. Lost Again?

After Cassio’s departure, the day had become dreadfully dull and horribly uneventful. Having nothing else to do, Bianca dressed herself in a thin cotton robe and tidied her small house in expectation of Cassio’s return, taking especial care in the making of the bed. She worked at her leisure, hoping that the slower she cleaned the quicker time would pass. Cassio was her clock; she was beginning to measure time by his arrivals and departures.

She was realizing, too, that her feelings for Cassio were unlike any that she had ever felt before...she still did not quite understand them. Just sleeping with him was not enough. She wanted to talk to him, listen to him, and care for him, too. She wanted to be seen outside her own home with him--something that surprised her. Being what she was, to go outside during the daytime was to subject herself to public scorn. She knew that nobody wanted to see the likes of her while the sun was out--thus her surprise when she heard an urgent knock at her door.

Puzzled, but not irritated, for she had not been doing anything of import, Bianca headed to the door to reveal her visitor.

“Again!” she cried. It was the foolish boy Roderigo--she might have expected him, considering how many times he had dropped by within the last twelve hours. And he had apparently “grown” new facial hair overnight. “Faith, I am beginning to think that you crave my company, you silly thing,” she said saucily. “Let me guess--you are lost again and come to ask directions of me?”

  
  



	3. Scurvy Necessity

Truly, Bianca's home must have had some manner of enchantment placed upon it. That Roderigo could find  _ it _ so easily, yet could lose his way at every turn when searching for any other place...'twas scurvy!

But that now was of no import. If it had been her house he had once again found, it would be the woman within he would petition for help. He had left Iago at some relatively grass-softened wayside, half of the distance between Bianca's home and the alley in which he had discovered the man for, in faith, his strength was not so great. If the courtesan could abandon her impertinent badgering of him for one moment, she could aid him in bringing his friend within door, for a start....

"Prithee bear some charity to my wit!" he replied crossly, hating that he sounded like a petulant child, but knowing he could not keep from continuing in like kind. "Think you I would be such a fool, to constantly get myself lost only to have to seek your direction? I believe I have learned, hence yesternight, to avoid that very thing!"

Still, he could not insult her too greatly, no matter how she had wounded his ego...for he truly was in need of her help now, and not for some inane mischance of his own, either....

"Truly, I...have need of your assistance," he said uncomfortably, stroking his false beard as he did. "A...friend of mine, he is.... Well, I discovered him in an alley some distance away, insensate, but...." O, it chafed him to say it...but this was no time for pride. "I could not carry him so far, and I know not what has put him in such a state. Might I beg you to help me bring him here? This is, I think, a matter of grave necessity...."

  
  



	4. Not Yet Decent

How odd. Bianca’s smile vanished, replaced by a perplexed frown. His story was...peculiar, to say the least, and she was not a fool. Why was  _ she _ the first person Roderigo would come to for such a matter? She was hardly a doctor. The whole situation seemed suspicious...but Roderigo appeared to be in earnest. That he had tried to carry his friend but could not seemed entirely possible,  _ likely _ , in fact, and besides, surely this boy did not possess wit enough to trick anyone, even if he wanted to. For heavens’ sakes, anyone could tell that his ridiculous beard was false, and  _ there _ was a testament to the extent of the youth’s duplicity.

“...Very well,” Bianca said finally, noticing the anxiety in his eyes and taking some pity on him. “Out of my heart’s kindness, I shall help you. I must dress myself first, however--as you can see I am not quite yet decent.” She could not help teasing him by beginning to slip her robe off of her shoulders prematurely as she headed toward her chamber to get dressed.

Still, though, she did not tarry in the task, for she could tell that Roderigo truly was concerned for whoever it was that he had found. Bianca was less worried. It was not so uncommon for men to lie unconscious in alleyways, especially men of Bianca’s particular acquaintance--always excluding her dear Cassio, that was. She had learned that her soldier was incredibly intolerant when it came to drink. With very little substance, he became quickly intoxicated. Bianca smiled--it was rather adorable.

But that was beside the issue at hand. Bianca put on the most modest wear she could find in her possession, wary of the daytime, and promptly returned to Roderigo who was still waiting at the door.

“All right, I am ready,” she announced, lifting her chin and extending her hand loftily toward Roderigo, as if she were a lady above her rank being escorted to a dance. “I trust that you will be able to lead me to your friend without getting lost.” She offered a cheeky smile.

  
  



	5. What Else To Do

God, the  _ nerve _ of the woman! Verily, Roderigo had never seen a more saucy broad in all his young life! To have the audacity to extend a hand to him like a gentlewoman might, and  _ insult _ him at the same time! Were he not so preoccupied with the matter at hand, he might well be tempted to chide her most soundly!

...But then...in faith, her kindness was beyond compare...undeserved, even...though he was loath to admit that to himself. No doubt she knew exactly what he thought of her and her... _ duty _ ...and yet she helped him all the same. Yes, his thoughts yesternight had spoken true: not all those viewed as lesser beings lived to fulfill that appellation....

Still, he could not refrain from responding to her taunt, unable and unwilling to ignore the prick to the ego it gave him as he turned from Bianca's hand. 

"Leave off undermining my intelligence, I pray you!" he complained. "Not even I would be so foolish as to forget where I laid an ailing friend to rest!" ...That said, he really did have to exert a considerable effort in recalling precisely where it was he  _ had _ left Iago, and only hoped his hesitance did not show upon his visage as he led Bianca to him.

"There," he said at last, growing somber once more as he stared at the seemingly lifeless form of his comrade...though, knowing Iago, he had been awake all of this time and was merely feigning unconsciousness.... "I...could bring him no farther than this...and knew not what else to do...."

  
  



	6. A Sorry Sight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The question of the day, I'm beginning to realize, is who DOESN"T get slapped in the course of this story? XD

The man was dressed in uniform: the same uniform that Cassio wore, and, she realized, the same that Roderigo wore (although the thought of such a senseless youth as a military man was laughable). As Bianca peered at the stranger, brushing her wild curls over her shoulders to have a better look, she found that he truly was a sorry sight. His clothes were dirtied; his face haggard. He would be handsome, perhaps, if he was clean-- _ nowhere _ near as handsome as Cassio, of course, but that was a given.

“Does your friend even live?” Bianca asked, dropping to her knees and laying her head gently upon the man’s breast. Her fingers pressed up against the stranger’s chest seductively--that was out of habit. She immediately placed her hands at her sides and hoped that Roderigo would not notice what she had done, lest he decide to make a cruel remark on it. He had not said anything aloud to her yet concerning her profession, but she thought she saw that hint of disdainful contempt in his eyes that she was so used to seeing. Either that, or she simply imagined it out of expectation of it.

She could feel a pulse at the man’s neck, and his skin was yet warm, so certainly he was alive. She looked over him quickly but thoroughly, and could find no wound. Neither did he smell of ale or any such draught. She stroked her fingers tenderly across the man’s dirty cheek and clucked her tongue sympathetically.

“He looks unsightly, but I cannot find a single thing awry,” she told Roderigo. “Perhaps he is sick, in which case you’ll want a doctor, not a woman like me. Here--let me see if he will awake.” She shook him gently, and when she found no sudden results, wound up and slapped him across the face.

  
  



	7. What Was He (Without His Tongue)?

"Soft you!" Roderigo exclaimed, wincing at the sound Bianca's hand made upon striking Iago's haggard face. "He lives yet; there is no need for...for...any of that...!"

***************

_ Does your friend even live...? ...Looks unsightly...cannot find a single thing awry...a doctor...woman like me...awake.... _ The words were...disjointed, warped: brief flares of sound amidst a darkness of sense yet consuming. The voice-- low, sultry, accented lightly with the lilting, rolling rhythm of the Greek isles-- was one that had never before graced his ears...or so he thought. Memory, it seemed, in some remote part of his half-conscious mind that yet retained coherence, was not quite a thing to be trusted....

_ THWACK! _ The slap came suddenly, unbidden, and Iago reacted purely from instinct, grabbing the offending hand and twisting sharply, feeling the weight hovering above him shift away. Somewhere, in some distant place, a voice shouted what seemed to be a name, or perhaps a warning...and the hand he grasped, a woman's small, calloused hand, wrenched itself away as a stream of Greek curses littered the air. 

" _ Gamo to xorio sou! _ " the woman hissed. "Control your friend, Roderigo, if you please!  _ Skatá _ , that hurt!" 

_ Roderigo? _ What was that fop doing here...who was this strange woman whose company he even now kept? What had transpired, that he himself was with them...and  _ why could he recall nothing? _

"Where..." he tried to say, but his tongue felt leaden, and could not form even that simple word...and O, but that was a grievous blow, for what was he, what could he do, without his tongue? His most faithful, treasured weapon it was, barring his sword...that it should fail him now boded ill indeed.

  
  



	8. Ruffians And Fools

Truly, the soldier’s reflexes were admirable, Bianca thought begrudgingly as she rubbed her wrist, the tendons within stinging with firelike pain. Men hardly ever seemed to have any type of courtesy about them. Well, at least the stranger was now awake, and very much alive.

“That’s hardly how one ought to treat a lady,” Bianca sniffed, smacking her attacker lightly with her other hand just for spite. “Is this the thanks I must receive for coming to your aid? If you are a Venetian, too,” she said insolently, looking down at his uniform which signified that he belonged to the Venetian army, “I can safely say that Venice must be entirely peopled with ruffians and fools.” She nodded her head toward Roderigo as she finished the latter part of her statement. “And people say your lovely city is so cultured. Ha! Culture, my foot, if you have no qualms about laying hand upon a woman.”

  
Insulted as she was, she haughtily took the soldier by the shoulder and pulled him upright, helping him to sit up. “There now,” she said, although she could not quite maintain the arrogance in her voice. This man indeed looked pitiable, and calloused as Bianca had grown through her life, she had never become coldhearted. “Are you well,  _ signore _ ? You look unkindly.”


	9. Weary of Your Constant Laments

"I...I am well, I assure you," Iago replied, feeling the beginnings of an insidious, burning anger creep through his veins at the sound of his tremulous voice, at the feel of the woman's lithe arm about his back. In faith, he could not fault her audacity, for a brazen woman had never been one he had felt any particular ill will towards...but what she said, insolent and nonchalant as she was, what she insinuated...O, but there was a grievous sting. 

_ "Culture, my foot, if you have no qualms about laying hand upon a woman!” _ Indeed, her words rang true...too true, opening some place in his mind, some vault of memories kept tightly locked as of yesternight, putting forth the name  _ Emilia _ , and the image of himself grabbing her by the shoulders, whirling her about, shouting at her, striking her to the floor, while she cowered beneath him in despair.... Her face, tearstained and made chiseled by moonlight, following his form with clear eyes reddened with grief, imploring him, bidding him stay as he sought only to flee.... Her voice, wild with rage, disparaging him for all the sin, all the evil he had within him, while a monster with his own eyes loomed behind her, distorted and thirsty for innocent blood....

_ ENOUGH! I grow weary of your constant laments! _ Whatever stirrings of sentiment moved him now...they mattered not.  _ Emilia. Recall her, YOUR WIFE, I pray you.... _ For he had left her, had he not? He had left her to wander the rain-chilled Cypriot streets in some frenzy of passion...and he had promised her his return, and he had not returned....

"Roderigo," he rasped, shaking off the dark woman's arm gently as he turned to face the young pup he had once called friend. "Where have you taken me? I must needs return...to the Citadel...." But they would not be expecting him there now, would they, and he stabbed at the thought viciously before bitterness and grief could consume him once more. Turning his face away, he cast his haggard gaze upon the damp roofs of Cyprus, and added, too quietly to be heard, "And I must needs return to my wife."

  
  



	10. Soldier Of Venice

“ _ I  _ will take both of you to the Citadel,” Bianca declared loudly, standing up and placing her hands upon her hips authoritatively. “I do not trust your friend Roderigo to show you the proper way.” She laughed and chucked Roderigo affectionately under the chin.

In truth, there was more to her motive than simply that. The fortress was where Cassio spent his time during the day. Of course, when Bianca was not wanted anywhere else in town, how could it be expected that she would be welcome anywhere near the Citadel, where serious business was conducted and heroic soldiers kept? It was hardly her place of business. But, if she went there for the sole purpose of helping a couple of lost soldiers find their way--well, she could hardly be faulted for it. Perhaps, having made the journey once, she would gain the courage to do it again, and that time, alone. She would show Cassio--and the whole world with him!--that she could do more than simply share her bed with strangers. She would prove that she had dedication, and some degree of honor to her, in spite of the profession that fate had chosen for her. Even as she thought this, it filled her with a fiery resolve and a strong feeling of pride.

Having made this vow, Bianca turned to Roderigo’s friend, but out of respect did not help him to stand this time.

“What is your name, soldier of Venice?” she asked him, cocking her head invitationally and making her head of curls flounce with the motion. “Perhaps if I like your name, it shall put you back into my favor. I will not hesitate to tell you that I like your face well enough.” She gave him a flattering smile, to make up for having slapped him so hard.

  
  



	11. Such A Grievous Thing To Lose

Iago's head spun as he stood, but he refrained from grabbing onto Roderigo (or the woman: no doubt she'd possess a greater measure of strength) for support. Having been brought so low, through circumstances so unmitigated and demeaning, what little pride he could yet keep had worth beyond measure. 

So it was with a voice cool with suppressed disdain that he responded to her brazen flattery, turning away from her to begin walking, still somewhat unsteadily, towards the Citadel.

"I knew not that your favor was such a grievous thing to have lost,  _ kyría _ ," he told her dryly, drawing on what little of the Greek tongue he knew to address her, thinking to set her at ease as recompense for treating her harshly. In faith, that had truly been a fault... _ raising your hand to a woman yet again, with no known cause...you sicken me, you do.... _ But he severed the thought at its throat before it could complete itself, clenching his teeth against a rising black wave of self-reproof. That action, though it had been a slight to her, had been wrought of instinct. Nothing more. He could not hold himself culpable for  _ that _ ....

Even so...what had been done, what had not yet been amended, what had been broken could not be erased...and the less she knew of him for all that, the better. 

"My name is of no import to one whom I never again will lay eyes on," he said, somewhat harshly. "I thank you, sincerely, for your aid, but you need not trouble yourself by guiding us to the Citadel." Of course, the young quat would be accompanying him...and he would discover, along with all the rest of the men, what had happened yesterday, what Othello...and he himself...had done... _ NO! LEAVE OFF THAT NOW! ENOUGH, I SAY! Think not of that, think of anything but that.... _ "We can find our own way back; we have no further need of your services."

  
  



	12. He Will Lead You Astray

Bianca frowned slightly, for her plans--at one moment so sure and so foolproof in her mind--were now to be thrown by the wayside and left for naught. She wanted to accompany Roderigo and his friend to the Citadel, regardless of whether or not  _ they _ wanted her to, and whatever their personal opinions might be, she  _ would _ go with them. Years of playing the submissive mistress when she was within the bedroom had created in Bianca an unshakable desire to have her way when she was not.

“O, but you do not know what you say,  _ kýrie _ ,” Bianca protested sweetly, nodding her head in acknowledgement of his polite address and giving him one back. Certainly the man had a wit, even in his disorientation, and she was delighted by the dry remark regarding her favor, biting as it was. It was not often that she came across a fellow with a mind behind his mouth--but dear Cassio was one of these fellows, of course.

“Are you not well acquainted with your friend called Roderigo?” she asked, pleasantly extending a hand lithely toward the youth of whom she spoke. “For perhaps you do not realize that you must not depend upon  _ him _ to show you the way to your destination. You see, mysterious soldier, he has this past night come knocking at my door to give him direction toward his inn. More than thrice he did this,” she laughed, “and one may divine from  _ that _ the sharpness of the needle within his mental compass. He will lead you astray; I am sure of it.”

  
  



	13. Heart And Lust To Match

Roderigo, upon feeling the woman's playful disparagement of him defile his tender ears, spluttered with abject indignation, but Iago could not keep a small, sardonic smile from his lips. Verily, the lady had a wit to match her boldness... _ though her quips, barbed and apt as they are, cannot hope to match Emilia's discriminating acuity.... Fie on you! THAT one has no WIT; she is all in all but heart, heart and lust to match...! BE SILENT. _

"Of course," he said smoothly, as though those dark thoughts running yet rampant had never crossed his mind. "I do not believe for a moment that Roderigo has sense enough to guide himself out of a damp sack, and I doubt not that you speak true regarding his haunting of you." 

O, he meant the slight, surely; with every fiber of his being he meant it. But his tone, light and dry and noncommittal, revealed not that, and he could see Roderigo's grudging acceptance of his comrade's denigration of him clearly in those limpid brown eyes. Besides the which, precisely where the pup chose to lose himself by night was no concern of Iago's; he was not the man's keeper (despite often feeling that he did, indeed, perform such a function). The more fortuitous it was that Roderigo had evidently not revealed what abuse he had suffered yesternight...but he would not dwell on that, would not bear to accept yet another revelation of that horrid truth from which he had run, desperately, madly, until the first glimpses of morning's imminent light could be seen....

  
"I would, I think, be the one showing  _ him _ to our destination," he continued, once more shaking off his poisonous reverie as though it had never been. "In any case, I doubt not that you have matters of greater import than this to attend to. You had best to your affairs."


	14. No Abandon

Indeed, this man had quite a defamatory humor! Bianca burst into peals of laughter at the thought of the poor, foolish Roderigo struggling to find his way out of a sack. Why had not  _ this _ soldier come to her doorstep? Not that she liked Roderigo not, for he had proved that he could be kind when he was not being tedious--but such a cruel wit, this man had! She loved Cassio, ay, but her Cassio--bless him!--was much too generous and far too sweet to utter such slanders. Truly, this man’s tongue had no abandon.

“Indeed, soldier, I have not any affairs at the moment half as interesting as I am beginning to find you,” she told the stranger good-naturedly. “I will follow you. If not for your sake, why then, for your friend’s. I may need to hold his hand so he does not lose himself somewhere along the way.” She grinned, impishly, and slid her fingers into Roderigo’s. “If you will not tell me your name, signore, then perhaps Roderigo will. I trust that he knows it, else he would not call you his friend--although, I suppose, it is quite possible that he has forgotten it.” She chuckled and draped her arms about Roderigo’s neck, wonderfully amused by his embarrassment.

Perhaps she ought to exercise more restraint, she thought suddenly. Her behavior was far from appropriate at the moment; she was no stranger amongst the company of men, but at present she was with a different sort of company entirely. Soldiers were not  _ all _ propriety and regulations (Cassio was a good example of this statement), but  _ some _ of them were, and this man seemed likely to be one of such. Just a moment before she had teased him by saying that he had fallen out of favor with her, but now she feared the very opposite. Suppose that this stranger should find out what she  _ was _ , and cease to associate with her? Suppose that this man was not as acceptant as her Cassio, and he became disgusted with her? Bianca did not know why she cared so much, but for some reason, she did. Haply it mattered to her because it was a reminder that the world she lived in was one entirely separated from Cassio’s.

  
  



	15. Discomfiture

O, but the woman was persistent. Soliciting his name, insisting upon her accompaniment...in faith, such behavior was not so common, though there was some measure of virtue to be found and praised in her strength of will, no doubt. At any rate, Roderigo's all-too-perspicuous discomfiture at her forward slander of him did much to temper his humor, and there, surely, was a fortuitous anachronism....

Still, the lady was in possession of a spirit most mercurial, it seemed. Her boisterous mirth and good-natured banter had taken this leave in lieu of some sentiment more somber, more anxious, than what seemed her wont. He could with facility sense her trepidation, and wondered at it, for he was certain that neither he nor Roderigo had done aught to warrant such a look.... It was as though she feared disdain, chastisement of some sort...as though she dallied in a world in which she believed she belonged not, and was fully cognizant of the fact, waiting with dread resignation for someone to bid her leave it. 

Though the sky was yet heavy with clouds brimful of rain, the scant light of day seemed not to flatter her dark, feral form, as though it yearned for the sensual touch of distant moonlight, instead...a night-walker, perhaps: some courtesan or prostitute that sold herself for others' gross pleasure. Perchance this was even Cassio's Bianca, of whom he spoke so flippantly of...fondly, to be sure, but only in a way as one might speak of an amusing pet, or novelty. Though he hated to recall the wretched lieutenant's voice to mind, he could hear the man speak of his broad, extolling the grace of her voluptuous form, and the richness of her dark skin and wild, rust-colored curls...yes, she looked the very image of Roderigo's companion...but then, he could be no judge, and cared not deeply enough to discover the truth of the matter.

...But she had spoken long ago, and he knew, for his own sake, that it would serve him ill to appear so preoccupied.  _ You know what that just yesterday wrought.... _

"I would hope that he could recall my name," he quipped, keeping aught the woman might misconstrue as contempt aimed at her from his tone...though he spared Roderigo none of that acrimony. "Though, in faith, I am inclined to doubt that he could, when he often sees fit to forget his own."

  
  



	16. Names And Discoveries

“Is it in his habit to forget his own name?” Bianca asked, brightening at this new stab and patting Roderigo on the cheek like one might a child. “Good faith, he did this just yesternight! I asked him his name, and he said--O, what was it you called yourself, silly boy? Something, but certainly you did not say ‘Roderigo’ at the first.”

“I said ‘Lucentio’,” said Roderigo suddenly. Bianca was slightly surprised by his outburst, but she shook her head.

“Nay, that was not what you said,” she opposed, but after doing so, she paused. Why, the fool seemed nervous! He looked toward his friend anxiously and then quickly pretended that he had not. Bianca blinked a few times, trying to divine something from this odd behavior. It seemed that, for some reason, he did not want to disclose what he had actually given as his name.

Then it came to her:  _ this _ man must be the friend from whom Roderigo had borrowed name, and unsuccessfully at that. Bianca stared at Roderigo, and then the other soldier, and began to laugh anew. Poor Roderigo! She contemplated whether or not to keep his secret, throwing saucy looks upon Roderigo that appeared to fill him with alarm. Chuckling still, she decided to humor Roderigo and not reveal him. O, what was the name that Roderigo had spoken yesternight? It had been of little importance before, so she had forgotten it. She turned to the soldier once more.

“You are still trying to deter me from finding out your name by distracting me,” Bianca acknowledged to him with a slight smile. “And cleverly, too. I will ask you again: what is your name?”

“Iago!” came a voice that she recognized, and she turned to see Cassio striding quickly toward them. The sight of him immediately delighted her. What made him here from the fortress?

“Iago; there you are,” Cassio said, not sounding exultant in the discovery of the man but retaining a polite cordiality. “What make you here? There has been a party out to search for you, but having found you, I should seek out the general to have it recalled.”

  
  



	17. So Great A Disturbance

_ Iago _ . Yes, that was the name. Bianca could recall the moment well; the man's reputation had, unbeknownst to Roderigo, preceded him, and the poor  _ karakiozi _ had made himself egregiously an ass in calling himself such. Looking at the man now, she was surprised she had not guessed his identity afore. 

"Of course," the ancient said smoothly, though she could hear an edge of steel in that low voice that made her step quickly towards her beloved Cassio's side, as though to protect him from the other man's rancor. "It seems not meet for my...absence to have caused so great a disturbance."

"We have only recently come upon him," Bianca added, giving Roderigo a cautious glance even as she pressed herself invitingly against the broad expanse of Cassio's chest. She was no fool; from Iago's tone, she would wager he was ill-inclined to divulge to Cassio the state in which he had been found. She could oblige him that; she could understand only too well the disinclination to reveal weakness. "Myself and this  _ anóitos _ here, that is. He, I think, would be grateful if you could include him in your return to the general, my  _ agapi _ ...though it may be to the advantage that I should come along, to explain to your Moor that your ancient was doing no wrong in his tardiness."

The latter point, of course, was only half-true, for she longed simply to remain in Cassio's company for as long as was possible...though she was rather loath to divest herself of Iago's wit, as well. Besides the which, the frigid politeness in her lieutenant's cultured voice was something she was ill-accustomed to hearing, and she yearned to discover its cause. What had this Iago done, to merit such a great search and so little of enthusiasm in his reception, to put so cool a look on her Cassio's face? In faith, her curiosity was great...and as such, a thing that could not be ignored. 

  
  



	18. Your Wife Weeps Still

For the first time, Cassio noticed Bianca, who was now cuddling up against him like a lonely kitten. It was rather odd that she should be here, in the company of Iago and one other soldier he did not know, but he decided to pay no mind to her at present. He did not push her away, however--it would surely hurt her feelings if he did.

“O, come, Iago,” Cassio said good-naturedly with a smile to match. “Do not slander yourself so much; surely you do not think that there was  _ no one _ who cared about your absence.” His expression clouded over as he looked the man in the eye. “ _ Emilia _ , particularly, was rather distraught, and it was for her sake that you were sought out.” He paused, wordlessly imparting the severity of the circumstance with naught but the weight of his gaze.

“Sir, your wife wept, and weeps still, I warrant,” he told Iago gravely, wondering if the ancient--if that was still his title--even cared. “I know not what cause she had for such response, but I do not think it was your intention to upset her thus. You ought to meet with her, posthaste, that you might soothe her spirits. My heart, and no doubt the general’s, has broken for her distress, and I should hope that you, as her husband, have similar sentiments regarding her well-being.”

“As for you,” Cassio said presently, looking down at Bianca and chuckling at her misplaced eagerness, “I thank you for your willingness to assist, but your presence will not be necessary, sweet. Run along home and I will see you betimes.” He patted her gently on the back.

  
  



	19. Hell Hath No Fury

Brows contracting together with indignation, Bianca drew back from Cassio, sorely tempted to slap the man as she gathered her skirts in one hand and stood tall, unbowed by submission and blazing with righteous fury. 

"What!" she exclaimed, her attention focused solely on her lieutenant, paying no heed to either Roderigo's frightened, intimidated look or the sudden darkness casting a shadow upon Iago's visage. "Am I a dog, then, to be praised for eagerness and then sent off home without a care, obeying a master's will mindlessly?" If she did pursue him, with greater force of intent than she did even now, if she did seduce him to professing a love for her as deep as hers ran, would he treat her this way? Would he order her about, with that patronizing smile, as though she had no independent will of her own? In faith, the very thought made her sick!

"In point of fact, my dear Cassio, I would say that my presence with your company was indeed  _ extremely _ necessary," she continued haughtily, tossing her thick mass of curls over one shoulder. "If this man's wife yet weeps, surely the rough condolences of men, even her husband's embrace, will not offer so much of comfort as would a woman's gentler touch. I do not expect you to understand," she added, determined to prick her beloved's pride a bit for slighting her so. "For you are ill-versed in the needs of ways of the fairer sex, charming though you are." 

That, of course, was an understatement, for Cassio was perhaps the most suave, polished gentleman she knew, and could ply the hearts of women with practiced ease...though she was determined to channel his lusts and passions to yearn for her alone...but then, that was not precisely the matter at hand.

"I will accompany you all to the Citadel, and there will be no dissuading me from this purpose," she said, knowing she sounded stubborn and not caring in the slightest. "Besides the which, I should like to see this wife of yours, Iago, to decide whether you merit chastisement for worrying her to tears. In faith, such actions a loving husband should never undertake, no matter the circumstance." Raising one eyebrow at Cassio, she added, "Is that not so?"

  
  



	20. Meddling

“Well, er...I...yes, it is so,” Cassio conceded with an awkward laugh, finding Bianca’s meddling to be both endearing and tiring, and in the presence of company, slightly intimidating. It would not do to argue with the lady in public eye, and yet, he did not want her to come with him to the fortress. His personal life and his professional life were, quite frankly, distant kin, and it would not be meet for the general to see him in the company of this woman. Nor could he possibly conceive in his mind any circumstance under which Emilia would crave the company of said lady--Emilia certainly took pride in her upstandingness, and would surely find offense in any sympathy received from Bianca.

“But I think, Bianca, that you realize that it is not your place to decide whether this man deserves chastisement,” Cassio told her, placing his hands on her shoulders, “and I assure you, the ensign’s wife holds friend with the wife of the general, so you need not worry that she lacks a woman’s empathies.” He did not say anything about Bianca’s social position, for it would not be appropriate to bring it up.

Cassio turned to Iago and the other soldier and smiled apologetically. His gaze rested upon the unfamiliar one for a moment.

“Were you one of the soldiers sent to look for him?” he asked the bearded fellow, figuring that perhaps Emilia might want to know the man who had found her husband. Remembering his manners, he extended a hand and introduced himself. “My name is Michael Cassio.”

  
  



	21. Assumed Elegance

Roderigo stared at the lieutenant's proffered hand, panic momentarily freezing his mind as he struggled to formulate an appropriate response. Should he take the hand, as he would have in Venice, acting comfortably within the accepted standards of his and Michael Cassio's similar social positions? Or should he salute, as the lowly soldier whose guise he had assumed would? After all, that was what one  _ did _ regarding commanding officers, was it not? Now, in this assumed role, he would have to treat even Iago with greater respect than he normally afforded his friend...for he, too, was an officer....

...But why should Cassio offer his hand so, if he did not intend for Roderigo to take it? Was this a test, to observe any insubordination in one who was (much to Roderigo's detriment, he realized) unfamiliar to the lieutenant? Was he merely reading too deeply into this? In faith, he was not ordinarily disposed to such conflicting thought; it unbalanced him, made him forget himself, all his manners and poise and grace...and  _ wit _ ! No, this simply would not do.

So Roderigo took Cassio's outstretched hand in what he hoped was a self-assured manner, and shook it with all the refined elegance he possessed. "I am called Lucentio, lieutenant," he said, the alias slipping smoothly from his lips, "and I am honored to make your formal acquaintance." His voice, he was pleased to note, was steady, betraying no boyish trepidation or intimidation, and he felt an enormous sense of pride sweep his heart at that accomplishment. "Indeed, I am one the general petitioned to search for our ancient. Fortunate I was to discover him, for the lady Emilia's sake, if nothing else."

  
He could only hope that Cassio would not ask him of  _ reasons _ behind Iago's disappearance (why should he, when the man himself was there to answer?), for truly, he knew not at all why his friend had been thus absent. It had been a matter of grave import, surely, if his wearied, brooding look, and strange behavior of yesternight (in faith, his arm yet stung from that unhappy blow....) were any judge...and if the bold Emilia was reduced to tears. He knew the woman not well, but never had he seen her eyes so much as water from distressing circumstance. Something strange had befallen the two, something to which Cassio obviously was not privy. Even his meager wit (though, of course, he would never admit that to himself) could divine  _ that _ . 


	22. A Desperate Woman

Seeing Roderigo struggle so pitifully in the decision of whether or not to take the lieutenant’s hand, Iago was about to help him in some way. However, the fool suddenly and miraculously seemed to know what to do, as if heaven had given him some divinely inspired instruction. Iago could not help but raise his brow imperceptibly at Roderigo’s success in deceit, though it was a simple one. At the same time, he felt a slight twinge of annoyance at Roderigo’s pompous behavior--ha! As if any general worth his sword would entrust such a bumbling clown with any task. As if Roderigo cared at all about Emilia--he probably could not have even given her name before now.

But none of that was any matter. Roderigo must not be revealed, else questions would be asked--and Iago did not entirely trust the youth not to say something that would incriminate them both.

Cassio nodded politely to Roderigo. “You have served your purpose well, sir,” the lieutenant said to the “soldier” while making a futile attempt to brush Bianca off of him.

So this was his Bianca, for Cassio had called her thus (Iago would not have been surprised, had Cassio been acquainted with more than one Cypriot courtesan). Truly, it was disgusting that this woman hung about the undeserving lieutenant so yearningly, when she had proved that she had at least some wit. There was something inherently repulsive and vulgar about an desperate woman. In following with this thought, Iago hoped that Emilia would not make too much of a fuss when he met with her again, for if she did, she would put herself in an unfavorable light and make fools of both of them.

He envisioned, briefly, Emilia’s tearstained face as her coral lips trembled and she extended shaking fingertips out toward him in imploration. By heaven, he hated the vision--it made him feel guilt in spite of himself. But it was not his fault. If Emilia was wise, she would learn to find someone else to put her faith in--and yet, neither was that a suitable option, for Iago felt his innards contort with jealousy at the thought of his wife holding anyone in more faith than she did him…

“I tell you again, fair Bianca, there is no need of you!” Cassio cried in laughter, pulling Iago from his thoughts. It seemed that Cassio and his inamorata had been all this while in argument. “I know not what else to say. Go to, woman! I have told you, you need not worry; attend to your own affairs and leave others to theirs. I will see you at a later time.”

  
  



	23. Audacity

Bianca's full lips tightened briefly in anger barely suppressed, but after a time spent gazing, fiery and determined, into Cassio's eyes, she seemed to relent, backing away with a visible deflation of her aggressive, haughty stance as she nodded to him, disconsolate. 

"Indeed," she said, a measure of venom yet crackling in her sultry voice. "I will most certainly see you at a... _ later time _ . Though I think the choice not wise, I see there is no persuading you of my necessity of purpose. Good day."

Turning away from Cassio with an indignant toss of her curls, she blew a saucy kiss in the direction of the young soldier Lucentio, and leveled a smile at Iago as she passed him by.

"Try not to lose your way again,  _ karakiozi, nei _ ?" she called teasingly to the former. To the latter she added, raising a brow towards Cassio in sheer spite, "As for you,  _ kýrie _ , I do hope we will meet again, if only to exchange some measure of wit. I do believe such a contest would delight me greatly." And then she was gone, a bright shadow in the grim gray light of the morning, a fairy creature to enchant and disappear at will. 

In faith, her audacity was most refreshing, Cassio thought, though he could not help but cringe at her temper. Such displays were not meant to be viewed in public eye...though truly, even her most trenchant outbursts amused him, for he felt his lust for her grow as she raged, and felt it rise yet more when she whispered words of undying love and devotion into his neck. Never before had a lady (of the night or otherwise) been so very adamant in professing her love for him, though he truly did melt the hearts of them all. Loath though he was to let these soldiers (Iago most of all) glimpse his less-than-virtuous private life, but...well. He had to admit that her devotion was  _ quite _ satisfying.

Still...these were thoughts for the darkness and sensual shadow of night. The daytime, bleak and saturnine now, urged action of a nature more grave. Returning to the Citadel. Informing Othello and the search party of their discovery of Iago. Reassuring Emilia that her husband did indeed live.... And, most importantly,  _ discovering the truth _ .

"Come," he said, turning from Lucentio and Iago to begin the trek back to the fortress, irritably running a hand through his intricate coiffure in an attempt to salvage it from the air's moisture...to no avail, of course. "Our haste-posthaste return is, I think, the best course to take, for the sakes of the sanity of all those left behind."

  
  



	24. The Sanities Of So Many Minds

“By all means, lieutenant,” Iago said smoothly, smiling at Cassio ruefully. “You know best, I trust. Truly, I am sorry to have endangered the sanities of so many minds.”

He knew, of course, that Cassio was still hinting toward Emilia. Surely there was no one else who cared so much about Iago as to be driven to insanity. Perhaps the general was concerned about him, as Othello knew all of his men by name and made their most important businesses his own, but any possible worry that he had was certainly professional and little more than that. Though Othello still called Iago his friend, it was clear to anyone with eyes that they were no longer friends. In fact, they had  _ never  _ been friends, Iago dared to argue. ‘Friend’ was a title oft given, oft received, and oft dissolved by disagreement and differing paths of life. There was no use in friendship, when the commitment involved was so shallow.

Cassio was taller and had a longer stride than either Iago or Roderigo, but with brisk paces it was no trouble for Iago to keep up. Roderigo, however, was quickly falling behind and had to burst into a run periodically.

It would do no good to treat Emilia coldly when they met once more. He had hurt her too much these past few days… Besides, Cassio was watching, and it was evident that Cassio intended to continue watching. The interest that Cassio took in Iago’s wife was undeniably bothersome… Did he not already have his fill with women, having the favors of both the courtesan Bianca and the lady Desdemona?

But the real reason that Iago felt such misplaced emotions toward Emilia was because she refused to give up on him. No matter what he did to her, there she was, always coming back, always yearning to please. Iago considered himself a better person than many of the people he knew: he was not a libertine like Cassio, he was not a fool like Roderigo, he was a better judge of character than Othello. But as for Emilia… Iago was not blind. Every time that she came back to him made her that much more superior to him, and he knew it. Emilia could abandon his cause whenever she wanted to. But she would not. It was stupid, but it was the choice of an angel. He loved her for her devotion and hated her for being better than him.

“How does Emilia?” Iago asked the lieutenant, an edge of worry creeping into his tone. He was not sure if he had feigned it or not; it sounded surprisingly genuine. He thought of Emilia as he had last seen her, fingers clenched around the doorframe as she strained to see him in the dimly lit hallway; he imagined her huddled awake in bed, counting down the minutes until his arrival, rising early in eagerness to see if he had returned… All sentiment aside, he could not help but feel some measure of regret for causing her to lose sleep for his own sake these past few nights. He knew only too well what devils were wrought by the privation of repose.

  
  



	25. Mounting Apprehensions

There was a note of concern in Iago's tone that drew from Cassio a great measure of surprise, and he slowed in his intrepid step briefly, turning to cast an incredulous glance upon the man in hopes of divining something from his look. There was distance in those pale eyes, and a shadow that might, perhaps have been guilt...or regret...but it passed so quickly that Cassio could not be certain he had seen aught at all. 

"I will not endeavor to speak false," he replied cautiously, "for I wish to undermine neither Emilia's apprehension nor your own ability to perceive it." If, indeed, the man possessed such a wit.... "She was horribly grieved at your absence; in faith, her concern for you was so great that she was moved to tears on more than one occasion. Weary she was, too...no doubt her fears made impossible the attainment of peaceful repose."

Cassio observed Iago with care as he spoke, paying no heed to the bumbling figure of the young Lucentio, struggling to keep pace behind them. Forsooth, how could the man react to such a statement? If he was one who truly cared...surely this news of his wife's distressed state would cut him to the heart....

"The general, too, was worried," he added, feeling his own bemusement at his ignorance of the situation's nature rise up in him again, unbidden. "I do believe your wife did make him privy to some unhappy musings of hers, regarding your state...though I know not what they were. I hope you will consider what is spoke comes from mine own unease for a comrade's regard, and therefore see fit to enlighten me...and all the rest that await our arrival...as to the occasion of this most unfortunate circumstance."

  
  



	26. Friend You Are None

Cassio was concerned about Emilia, yes, but it seemed that even more than that, he wanted to know that which was not his business. What had occurred between Iago and Emilia was a hidden knowledge that Iago would not disclose to anyone; it was a secret that was to stay between the two of them forever… Or at least, it had been, until Emilia had let the truth spill from her beautiful, treacherous lips. There was no way to undo it, now that it had been done, and Iago knew that keeping secrets was no longer a choice. The truth would out one way or another, for Emilia knew, and Othello knew, and thus it was no longer in Iago’s hands.

“Emilia… ‘Horribly grieved’,” Iago murmured in absent echo, his tone grave. With the grim realization of one tremendous debtor, he lifted his gaze heavenward. “And for my sake?” He shook his head slowly, and sounding very near to grief himself, sighed, “Dear Emilia.” It felt odd on his tongue to call his wife ‘dear’ aloud. He disregarded it and looked sheepishly toward Cassio.

“In good troth, lieutenant, I… I do not think you should like to hear what has happ’d between my wife and I,” Iago said tiredly and ashamedly, casting his gaze upon the ground. “It is...terribly unfortunate, and I do not like to think of it, let alone speak of it. Spare me, my friend...do not put me to it, I beg of you. I think that you, upon hearing the truth, would think me a villain--and if you did, I would not blame you. Faith, you would be a villain yourself if you did not recognize me as such.” He sighed again, and pressed his fingers to his forehead. “Do not torture me so much as to bid me relate such foul and unhappy happenings, lieutenant sir, if you be my honest friend… If you do, then you take delight in my pain, and friend you are none.”

  
  



	27. Cast Aside

Cassio frowned deeply as Iago spoke, shocked to hear what nearly seemed to be a confession pour forth from the man's lips. This would be, he thought, as close to condemning himself as the ancient would come, confessing himself freely to merit the villainous appellation Cassio could not help but grant him now, all but admitting to some inclement circumstance and some ill treatment wrought of it....

...And yet, the man sounded so weary, so very sick at heart and soul, that Cassio could not bring himself to direct any rancor towards one he might have, in happier times, considered friend. He brought his gaunt hand to his brow as though the very thought of being made to relate those strange occurrences of yesternight caused him pain...though perhaps that spoke more to his seemingly wretched physical state than any weight of remorse. Perhaps Cassio was too quick to forgive, when the man this amnesty sought to redeem spoke false of his sorrowed guilt, to save face.

_ In faith, you judge him too harshly! _ he berated himself; though his heart and his mind related to him tales disparate, he knew beyond doubt when the time for excoriation was meet, and when it was not. Now...his earlier antipathy had dissipated like mist in the sunlight, replaced by what he could only quantify as pity. Indeed, he did pity the renegade ensign, haggard and disheveled and aggrieved as he was...though verily, Emilia could not be in much of a better state. 'Twould be fortuitous indeed for husband and wife to be reunited, for if they would not reveal the deleterious truth...they could, at the very least, find solace in each other. Even Cassio could not fault them that. 

"Though I may not have called you friend," he began slowly, hearing in his tone a warmth that had not been present before, "you did have my utmost respect. In light of all you have done, I hope you will forgive me that that respect has been...cast aside, as it were, for I cannot condone in any man actions of such unwarranted violence as yours. But...if you truly wish not to relate those 'foul and unhappy happenings,' as you say...." He trailed off briefly, glancing back to meet Iago's pale, shadowed eyes, searching for a mere glimpse of the keen, biting wit and intuitive compassion he saw so often before in them, but finding only broken darkness. "I will not force the occasion upon you. In faith, it is not my place...nor is it my wish to cause your wife...or you, sir...further pain in the recollection."

  
  



	28. A Wretched Soul

_ That is precisely correct, lieutenant. We have never been friends, nor are we now, nor shall we ever be. As for the way I have treated my wife as of late, you hardly treat women any better than I do. But of course you lack the wit to recognize that. _

“What?” Iago asked, breaking his expression of sorrow in favor of slight astonishment. “We, never friends?” He exhaled sheepishly and cast his gaze downwards. “O...well...I am sorry to hear that I was never your friend, lieutenant...though I must confess that you were ever mine.” He heaved a sigh that bore the weight of a loss, and he looked forlorn once more. “But...that’s no matter. Even if there had ever been a friendship, undoubtedly it would now be lost...”

He walked a few more steps in silence, the look of unrest on his face ever growing until he stopped in his tracks like one who had resigned himself to become a statue. Slowly, he lifted his eyes until he looked upon Cassio with a look that imported some sort of crushing realization.

“Truly, I do not think she wants to see me,” Iago said in a voice that was almost choked with anguish. He shook his head slightly, feeling his chest rise and fall with each breath. “Not after how I have misused her.”

_ I believe wholeheartedly that she weeps for my absence, the poor fool. Her heart overpowers her wisdom. _

Iago trembled, and still trembling, fell to his knees. “O, Cassio!” he exclaimed in an agonized tone. He held out his hands before himself, looking upon them as he had done the dreadful night that he had done the deed, imagining that he was standing that evening with the guilt written on his palms in blood. “With these hands--even these very hands--I  _ struck _ her! Yes--I confess it! Those marks you saw upon her cheeks--it was I who wrought them! I must report the truth, for it is at my nature to be honest, even when I have secrets that would rather hide.” Iago faltered, and hid his face in his opened hands.

_ I can no longer control whether or not Cassio will found out the truth. But I  _ **_can_ ** _ control how he finds it out. And if I can control  _ **_that_ ** _... _

After a weary silence, Iago lifted his head just enough that he could be heard.

“...So now you know,” he said, sounding taxed by his confession. “It was for this misconduct that I was...justly...relegated from my position as ensign. It was for grief, shame, and...I must admit... _ cowardice _ that I left my wife yesternight and did not return. Am I not a wretched soul? You are wise, lieutenant, to strip me of the honor of your respect, as it is what I deserve. I cannot believe but that Emilia has surely done the same…” Iago’s eyes began to tear up at the apparent thought of it--he had not expected it to happen, but he welcomed it anyway.

“And thus...having lost the graces and favors of the general; you, good Cassio; and my...my wife… I can hardly find a reason in my heart that might purpose me to return again.” Iago swallowed hard, as though it were difficult to do so, then threw a backward glance toward Roderigo. He gave the fellow a stern, meaningful look, then turned back to Cassio with torment etched in his countenance.

  
  



	29. Villain That You Are

If nothing else, Cassio considered himself to be an empathetic man. He regarded with pride his ability to comfort and commiserate, and never begrudged a burdened soul the benefit of his ear, if he could lend it to them at a time opportune. Despite all this, however, he would speak false to himself if he did not admit that Iago's lachrymose confession discomfited him most profoundly. The ensign--  _ former _ ensign, he reminded himself, having heard confirmation of the man's relegation from the poor devil's own lips-- was a man Cassio had always observed to be calm, composed. Firmly in control of his actions and emotions. Too strong, too nearly stoic, to shed tears. He was not even often inclined to raise his voice, let alone lose control in this way. 

To see him now, a weary, battered suppliant, with the tracks of tears and shadows of grief marring his dirty, ashen face, Cassio would fain believe him to be a man of spirit broken beyond help or hope of repair, consumed with guilt over his cowardly malefactions to the point of being unable to bid himself return to his place of castigation...and truly, the sight moved him. Not quite to compassion for, in troth, his misdeeds, so freely admitted even now, were too grave to be so easily forgiven, but to pity, verily...but to sound disconcertment, too. 

For once, the cultured, polished Michael Cassio found himself sorely cowed. He knew not what he could possibly to to ameliorate this delicate situation...and the other soldier Lucentio, evidently, would be of no help, for he, too, seemed shocked by this passionate display. 

With an anxiety wrought of mortification more poignant than he could remember feeling for a long time, the young lieutenant placed a cautious hand upon Iago's lean shoulder, not at all certain if the older man would prove amenable to the consoling gesture. In faith, the man's wife had spurned him earlier for such an action.... 

"Do not despair," he said quietly...though he supposed there was little he could do to keep Iago from doing exactly that.... "Relegated you may have been...and I cannot deny that your discipline was wrought of just cause...but you have not been dismissed entirely, have you? Surely we still will have need of your skill among the ranks; that in itself is reason enough to return. ...And if you do not return for yourself, do it for Emilia; I cannot think that she should be made to suffer unsupported."

None of this, though, seemed meet to have spoken; he felt, in hindsight, as though he had dismissed Iago's torment as something inconsequential, though to that end his words had aimed not. Thinking on this, he forced himself to meet the aggrieved pale eyes, hoping to convey unto them a conviction his befuddled tongue could not so well express. 

  
"And know this," he continued, solemn and resolute. "Your wife bears you no ill will for aught that you have done. In faith, she weeps not out of grief for her own misfortune, but for fear of your safety. None of this talk of her wishing not to see you, I pray. ...Verily, I think that the opposite is all that she wishes at this moment. She longs for your reunion, be you a damned man or not."  _ And for that, she is a truer being than you could ever hope to be, villain that you are. _


	30. I Love Her More Than I Hate Myself

“She is too good for me,” Iago murmured with anguish. He looked toward Cassio, imitating that wounded, fretful look that he had seen on Emilia the night before, the one that he feared had the power to govern him.

“In truth,” he said, with the air of a weighty confession, “I left her too because I was afraid of...of hurting her again.” He coaxed the tears in his eyes to fall, and dropped his head into his hands helplessly. “Though she lives still, I killed her that night. I killed both of us. I destroyed our future… I do not think I will ever be able to forgive myself that.”

He lifted his gaze heavenward, drawing shuddering breaths into his lungs. “O...that I laid hand upon the sweetest creature I have ever known…! She, who has loved me since the very first, even when my own family forsook me… I beg you believe of me, lieutenant, that I would give anything to undo that which I have done. And not for my own sake...my rank as a soldier gives me no worth if I am not a husband deserving of such a wonderful wife. Emilia… O, thrice-blessed Emilia! I was given an angel, and instead of thanking the heavens I stripped her of her wings.”

After a certain point, the lamentations began to flow forward effortlessly. Iago realized that they were not completely forged--they were genuine, more or less, and they came from that well-guarded place in his bosom that he dared not let anyone see. He was perverting them now, manipulating his own secret emotions in hopes of swaying Cassio…

Iago wept freely. “...You do not think I love her, lieutenant,” he said softly. “I cannot blame you that. Nor will I attempt to persuade you that I do, for my actions speak so strongly against me that I hardly think there is anything I can do to convince you of it. But O...Emilia! That men can be so bereft of discretion and do the deeds that later rip their hearts from their chests…! O, I could kill myself to amend my wrong. But I cannot...for that would truly kill her too. Dulcet beauty! I cannot bear that she would weep for me so much, and for my safety, when I so little deserve it.” He drew one faltering breath and placed his fingers at his breast, over his heart.

“...If you say my absence causes her distress...why then, I must return, though I am worthless. I have caused her too much pain...” Slowly, Iago stood up again, drawing himself heavily to his feet. “...I love her more than I hate myself.”

  
  



	31. Why Now?

Cassio stood back in silence as Iago stood, too grievously stunned to offer the wretched man any semblance of aid.  _ I killed her that night. I killed both of us...my rank as a soldier gives me no worth if I am not a husband deserving of such a wonderful wife.... I stripped her of her wings... I could kill myself to amend my wrong.... I love her more than I hate myself _ .... The words echoed through his ears, stinging in their self-loathing venom, heavy in their pellucid despair. God, but did they not import a spirit broken beyond redemption? 

What could he say, that could ease this man's torment? In faith...he could not offer sympathy, for of that virtue he possessed none, not when Iago spoke so true, of wounding Emilia so, of killing her with his vile ministrations. He could not tell him to cease his hatred of himself, for what man, what good, honest man would  _ not _ do that very thing, after mistreating one so dear, so bound, to him? Even if Iago did not truly love his wife (and, verily, Cassio could not help but doubt that he did), his remorse for abusing her was evident...and justly felt, too. Had the man done naught but now, acted not upon this guilt that apparently plagued him, his villainy would certainly prove to be deserving of not one ounce of pity or mercy.

Even so...Cassio found it to be suspect that Iago was thus afflicted  _ now _ , and not yestermorn. After all, it was not this night past that he had so harshly struck his wife, but the night before...he had not done so yesternight, at Emilia's insistence...which he was, against his better judgement, inclined to believe. The man had done the same deed two nights running: mistreating Emilia and running off in cowardice to pass a night forgotten and plagued...with madness, or remorse, or simply rage, he could not guess. 

Why now? Why did he confess, and weep, when the misdeed was recent history? Why did he do so to  _ Cassio _ , and not to Emilia? In faith, she merited the explanation and admission more than he;  _ he _ was not the one who had been so wronged. Had he been beset with such sudden agony, that he had been unable to repress his deleterious sentiments further? 

Cassio sighed wearily as he began to walk once more; it was too early yet for such grave thoughts, when he could make no sense whatsoever of what had even no transpired. "It is not my place to tell you what to feel," he said heavily, as though the weight of the world rested upon his shoulders at that moment. "Nor can I beg you to hate yourself not, for...but no matter. Do not say you are worthless, Iago. True, you have hurt your wife most soundly...but only you, I think, can mend what you have wrought. That now should be a purpose most puissant."

  
  



	32. A Numbers Game

Iago hated the way that Cassio was currently acting as his better. He felt as though he were Roderigo at this moment, woefully uncovering his heart to some saner man. But he had succeeded in moving Cassio to some degree of compassion, though compassion was not respect. Compassion was pity for a lesser being. It seemed that the only way to regain some of Cassio’s trust--to regain everyone’s trust--was through Emilia. After all, it had been through Emilia that he had lost everything. Foolish wench.

Chuckling ruefully, Iago wiped at his face with his sleeve. “You are right, lieutenant, I suppose…” He turned his gaze outward. “I thank you for your counsel… There is more to you than simply numbers, I see.” He laughed half-heartedly.

Emilia. It was she, if anyone, who would be his undoing. Though she hardly knew him, reclusive as his thoughts and feelings were, what she knew of him was more than anyone else had ever known, for she had spent almost a quarter of her entire life in his company and she was not completely senseless. Cassio trusted her word over Iago’s. The Moor trusted her word over Iago’s. Emilia, with all her womanly persuasion, held a greater power over men’s hearts than did he. Though Emilia did bear both wit and sense, men cared not for those things. Likely it was for her sex that they listened to her. A subtle whore.

“A heavenly angel!” murmured Iago as he caught a glimpse of flashing skirts on a distant street, along with the venerable form of the dark-skinned general. He caught Cassio by the shoulder, stopping him in his steps. “I will not be sworn, but--I think I saw my wife and my lord go hence.”

Emilia had moved so quickly it would have been difficult for anyone else to recognize her from that distance, but Iago knew her movements. It was she--there was no doubt. He ran his tongue slowly over the edges of his lips.

  
  



	33. Recovered Our Stray

Othello had disappeared down a small side street, but in the far periphery of her vision, Emilia felt certain that she had caught a glimpse of three figures, walking some considerable distance away along the road's opposite side. Pausing in her step, she trained her eyes upon the group, straining to make out aught of their features. In faith, their shapes did blur with the distance...but all three men, and all three in uniform, she was sure....

The tallest was dark of hair and elegant of bearing, walking with a nobleman's upright grace, with a sash of the Venetian colors draped across his body. The shortest, blonde and bearded and pale, moving clumsily as he struggled to keep pace with the longer strides of his companions. The middle man, swarthy and disheveled, staggered slightly, as if ill or hurt...but in faith, she was certain she recognized that predatory gait....

It was Iago, she realized, her hand flying to her mouth in shock. He had stopped, and made the others to halt with him, murmuring something to the man with the sash...the lieutenant Cassio, of course. O, bless the man, bless him! He had brought her husband back to her at last....

"My lord!" she called, directing her words to Othello, though her eyes remained fixed upon her husband's party. The general, hearing her plea echo down the street onto which he had gone, turned to her, thick brows raised in inquiry. "My lord, I do believe I have seen your lieutenant across this street here...and my husband with him." In faith, she could barely speak the words, so great was her incredulity. That he had been found...that he was unharmed, and well...truly, Fortune did smile upon her this day.

"Truly?" Othello asked, his deep voice filled with abject relief. "Thank Heaven for that, I think, for your sake!" Placing two fingers into his mouth, the Moor whistled long and loud, drawing the attention of the three men they sought with immediate success. "How now, Michael!" he boomed, making Emilia jump but slightly. "Have you recovered our stray, then? I pray you bring him hence, that his wife will no longer have to wait, and that I may impress upon him the consequence of being the root of such worry!" But even as he spoke those words nearly derogatory, his eyes were smiling, and Emilia knew that, despite all that had transpired betwixt the two, Othello was as pleased to see Iago as she.

  
  



	34. Unbreakable Spirit

Although the general spoke loudly and with important words, there was a warmth within them. As for Emilia, she looked as though a great weight had been removed from her shoulders. They both appeared glad to see Iago, and for a fleeting moment that did not last even as long as a thought, Iago wondered why he had ever professed to hate them.

“That I have!” Cassio called back, matching the Moor’s jovial tone. “Or rather, this young soldier has--it is one Lucentio, mistress Emilia, that you have to thank for this most fortuitous discovery.”

As Cassio returned the general’s greeting, Iago took a slight step back so that he could whisper discreetly into Roderigo’s ear. “You are not to say a word regarding the manner in which you found me,” he murmured impassively, slowly enough that the bumbling fool could understand but quietly enough that the action went unnoticed. Then, without waiting for Cassio to speak any further, Iago stepped ahead of the party. With quick strides, he approached Emilia, eliminating the space between them until he had encircled her in his arms. For a few seconds he simply held her there, feeling that fragile body and the warmth of the unbreakable spirit within... He kissed her atop the forehead, glancing briefly toward the general as he did so. Iago closed his eyes and pressed his cheek to Emilia’s temple.

If anyone would be Emilia’s undoing, surely it was he. There was nothing yet that could completely crush her, for she had a tenacity unmatched by any other woman in existence. But he, Iago, had come close to breaking her more than once; he, and no one else, for she placed so much trust in him even when she knew it unwise. That was it then. Emilia would destroy him, and he would destroy her. It could not end in any other way.

“Are you all right, Emilia?” Iago whispered. He pulled himself back but slightly, to look into her face for any sign of distress or remnants of weeping. He swept a loose lock of hair behind her ear. “I said that you would see me again. Did you doubt it?”

  
  



	35. A Fantasy Wrought Of Grief

Surely, this had to be a dream, a fantasy wrought of her grief and exhaustion...but Emilia could  _ feel _ the solid strength of her husband's lean body as he held her in his embrace, and the heat of life emanating from him, and the roughness of the cloth beneath her cheek as she pressed her face to his shoulder, and the vibrations of his chest as his low voice wrapped itself about her, soothing in its very presence when she had so long been denied it....

In troth, she  _ had _ begun to doubt his return. So great was her unease, so insidious and all-consuming was her fear that she truly had commenced to fancy her visions of his doom to be true. How volatile he had been! How moved, how devastated by his relegation...was it any wonder that she feared the worst? That he would kill himself for grief...indeed, it had not been so difficult to believe. 

...But now, ay,  _ now _ ...he was here, in her arms once more, and briefly all was right again. "In faith, I could not help but doubt you," she replied, her tone growing evermore heated in a fever of righteous passion. "You left, Iago, in such a state of agitation that I truly feared for your life! You are well enough now, but yesternight...I beg of you, chide me not for these misgivings. Had you seen yourself as I did see you, you would know how it was that I came to think you well and truly gone." In faith, she was indebted to this Lucentio in a manner unable to be repaid....

Drawing back from him, Emilia sighed softly, drained from her tirade. Gently, she brought her hands up to caress the black shadows about Iago's eyes, viewed his begrimed, wan face with a sort of tender pity that she could not help but feel. Verily, though she had lain, bereft of repose or peace, anguished in the pain of incertitude yesternight, her husband surely had suffered worse than she...his very look imported it, if nothing else.

"You look a sight," she whispered, brushing her hands gently through his tangled, matted hair. "Where have you been, Iago? What did you there? Can you bear to tell me?" ...Did he even recall what events had transpired ere morning's arrival...or was the night lost to him, as it had been the night before?

  
  



	36. So Prodigious A Knave

The more she touched him and clung to him, the more Iago found himself struggling to keep his wits. He leaned the weight of his head against her slender fingers even as she slowly sapped him of his spiteful feelings against her… O, cunning vixen.

It was difficult to recollect aught that had happened the night before. He remembered, faintly, Roderigo; he remembered the falling rain. He remembered feeling horribly out of control, in a way that had angered and terrified him. He would not tell her that now, but he could not tell her nothing. At the very least, she deserved answers, vague as they might be. He had evaded her far too much.

“...I was about the town all of last night,” Iago told her in a hushed tone, his lips close to her ear. “I was...upset, I confess it, though I assure you, you had no reason to fear for my life.” As he said so, he remembered, distantly, standing at a cliff’s edge and staring down as raindrops pelted at and became one with the raging sea...

“Truly, there is little to tell, Emilia… I left because I did not trust myself. I wandered through the streets like a ghost and lamented that I had ruined everything that mattered to me. But I am all right now...you needn’t worry.” Iago paused, loosing his hold on her and speaking with his heart no longer within his voice. “You never had need to worry; not for me. It is largely beneath you to care so for so great a fool and so prodigious a knave.” He spoke poison into the latter words; filled them with the acridity of self-loathing, and waited to see what her reaction would be.

  
  



	37. What Matters

"Beneath me?!" Emilia exclaimed, drawing back sharply to rake Iago with an incredulous stare. "What? Have you lost your wits? How can it be  _ beneath me _ to care for you, to worry for your welfare, when that is my very duty? I am your wife, am I not? And in yesternight's state, Iago, I do but think I had every right to fear for you!"

Did he truly think her so callous; did he despise her attentions so wholly, to so undermine them? In faith, she could see clearly the agony in his pale eyes: of indecision, of repression and forgetfulness, of self-loathing. And yes...of fear, too. Though minuscule, it  _ was _ there: a fear, she thought, of losing what tenuous control he possessed, of truly doing something irreparable, only to recall it nevermore. No wonder he trusted himself not...she would not either, in his place. 

But she could place faith in him now, could she not? He was not well, certainly, but neither was he the mercurial, acrimonious, near-suicidal wretch he had been yesternight...or the frigid, enraged demon of the night before. Fool, knave he might have yet been, but he was her husband, returned to her. And that was all that mattered. 

  
  



	38. By His Own Measures, Invisible

“Do not speak so loudly,” Iago said quickly, placing his fingers upon her lips. “I apologize.”

He had not expected her to retaliate against the remark so. Emilia was so unlike him… He had attempted to tell her that she was so much worthier than he; that she had no business worrying herself with the likes of one villainous wretch--he had judged her by his own measures, for what Iago wanted most was to know his own superiority. But not so for Emilia--she was disgusted by the idea that either of them could be superior to the other. She did not wish to be better than Iago--what she wanted was to take care of him. The thought that she could leave him, if she wanted to, was preposterous and distasteful to her.

“...Come, Michael, let us away,” the general called suddenly, gesturing to Cassio, who had been watching Emilia and Iago with a careful eye. “I trust that Iago and his wife will arrive at the Citadel anon. As for the us, we have no need to hear their discourse.” Othello gave a friendly, affirmative nod in Emilia’s direction, and, clapping his hand strongly over the lieutenant’s soldier, began to lead him away toward the fortress like they were old friends. Despite the present situation with Emilia, Iago watched the action with a disdainful gleam in his eyes. Othello had given Emilia a nod and Cassio his arm, but there was no recognition to be had for the former ensign. He felt horribly invisible, and it made him want to do something, anything, to bring himself back into existence once more.

  
  



	39. Direful Pale Eye

Watching the general and the lieutenant depart, there was a spark to be seen in Iago's eye: a gleam of disdain made all the more trenchant by the cold light of ambition. That the Moor had neglected him, only him, in his jocular farewell...in faith, Emilia knew only too well what depths of slight and outrage that would stoke within the man.

Seeing this sudden change in the tenor of her husband's eye, so starkly different from his abject despondency and frightful agitation of times yet recent...'twas perturbing, to say the least, and redoubtable in the extreme. True, Othello was remiss in acknowledging his former ensign not at all...and she  _ wished _ to be heartened by this casting aside of such a deleterious black humor...and yet...watching the man, seeing that glimmer of misprision in his direful pale eye...she could feel naught but a vague, insidious fear.

...But reveal that to him she could not dare to do, so she gently placed a hand upon Iago's shoulder, feeling and suppressing a hint of distaste at the dirt and damp that marred the rough leather. That, she supposed, could not have been helped...in faith, the poor wretch could barely recollect what had transpired yesternight....

"I must, I think, return to Desdemona anon," she told him quietly. "Will you go to the Citadel, Iago? ...Or will you to our chamber retire? Surely my lady will understand if you have need of any aid I may provide...." She could only hope he would do nothing rash.

  
  



	40. The Pieces Of It

Emilia almost appeared as if she were about to recoil when she put her hand to his shoulder, though she did not. It was not surprising in the least, for Iago knew that at this moment he did not have much in the way of presentation, but after receiving that subtle rejection from the Moor, Emilia’s nigh-imperceptible hesitation to touch him felt almost like a slap in the face. He hardly knew  _ why _ \--after all, it was the dirt that she did not want to touch, not he. But then, he felt as though the dirt were a part of him, something that he could not and would never be able to wash from his being. If Emilia ever left him--

The simple thought filled his innermost being with a venomous fire that threatened to eat him up and leave him broken. Emilia could never leave. She was the only person to whom he was not invisible. If he lost her too--if she  _ betrayed _ him--

“Do as you think best,” Iago told his wife semi-elusively, battling those raging thoughts and keeping them far from view. “The lady Desdemona, most likely, is the one who requires you most… Besides, you will enjoy her company more than mine.”

The latter statement leapt from his mouth like a viper from its nest. What he wanted was for Emilia to attend to him of her own accord, not for her to  _ ask  _ if she could  _ aid _ him. But how to put those thoughts into words? He could not, without sounding as wretchedly jealous and as disgustingly selfish as he knew that he was. He could sense a tenuous apprehension in her, and his mind jumped to a million different conclusions. She was afraid of him. She was repulsed by him. She did not want him. Very now, inside herself, she was itching to escape from him; she wanted to run from him and never return. How could it be, that this one woman could do all this to him, fill him from heel to crown with a legion of warring paranoias?

Iago still had faith in his wife; she was the last person to whom he still entrusted some small part of his heart. He had long since repealed that trust from others--the general Othello came to mind. But Emilia...she still had to ability to wound him, crush him, what she would, whether she realized she held that power or not. Iago did not wear his heart upon his sleeve as some men did, but...Emilia...she held pieces of it in her hands.

  
  



	41. Heavenly Or Wrought Of Hell

"O, is that so?" Emilia asked, smiling softly as she moved her hand from Iago's shoulder to clasp his fingers in her own, feeling the rough cloth of the linen bandages, now begrimed and bloodied and stained with damp, chafe her palms. "Think you in earnest that I would prefer the company of my lady to that of my husband? I love Desdemona well, to be sure, but yet you must realize, Iago, that my heart is even now subdued to the very quality of your own. Though to leave her grieves me true, it will harm my lady little to be so left, whereas I myself might falter at a grief wrought of guilt for thus leaving  _ you _ at present."

For she could see the conflict within her husband's eyes, desperately though he tried to mask it from her sight. She could see anger, a desperate sort of anger, warring with a fear most aggrieved, and some measure of suspicion, paranoia...and yes, there was love there, too, though to believe that sight she would fain have quailed at doing. 

  
...Love for  _ her _ , she realized. All of this emotion, this uncertainty, this strife within Iago was of  _ her _ doing...though she could be ill-persuaded to rue the act. After all, was it not living proof that the devotion she bestowed upon him was given not in vain? Did it not state clearly and indisputably that he, too, was bound to her? For those who within the other inspired such depth of sentiment truly were bound by the hand of fate, be it light or dark, Heavenly or wrought of Hell. 


	42. To Start Anew

She had an angel’s touch; surely there was very divinity present in her fingertips. Emilia’s sweet, low voice seemed to envelop him round as she spoke these kind, gentle reassurances, wove her fingers about his own, looked into his eyes with a lovely lucidity that pierced through the wrestling demons of his mind…

“You would deserve no guilt, if you should leave me,” Iago murmured wearily, tightening his fingers over hers and ignoring the pain wrought from the action. He looked into her open face, reading the love that was written on her smiling lips and in her softened eyes. It seemed her fear, only vaguely present, had been overwritten by that impossible willingness of hers to start anew...to start anew...a thousand times they would meet disaster, but always Emilia, always smiling as she did now, always ready for a new beginning… And yet, nothing would ever change.

“It was not my intention to belittle your efforts for me, Emilia,” he said plainly, referring back to how much he had upset her just before the general and lieutenant had left. “I am sorry I insulted you in that way.” He paused and ran his tongue over his dry lips. “It is not that I do not appreciate your cares, but rather that I do not deserve them.”

  
  



	43. A Misdeed Already Forgiven

Emilia took one step back, staring agape at the penitent, discomfited man before her, before feeling the now-familiar heat of indignation stir within her blood once more. "You do not deserve my cares?" she asked, incredulous, nearly mocking. "And, pray tell, Iago, who else but you  _ would _ deserve them? Foolish man, I am not so callous as to deny you any measure of concern for a misdeed already forgiven!"

Did he truly think that of her: that she would be so shallow, so heartless, not to bestow her care upon this weary, damaged soul she called husband? Was it not her duty, to look after him thus? Was it not a task she had taken upon herself willingly, knowing she could ignore it and neglect it if she so wished? 

  
Besides the which, she  _ had _ forgiven him, for all of it: the abuse, the harsh words, the disappearance, the grief he had wrought, even the relegation. No, she would not forsake him now. Not for all the world. 


	44. Abandoning Abandon

“Peace,” Iago told her sternly, feeling a tinge of impatience with his wife’s drama. “You realize that we are not within door, Emilia. I concede to your argument. Stop shouting, or you’ll draw the attentions of the entire town hither.” He reached out for her hand, like a parent did an obstinate child, and began to walk in the direction that the general and the lieutenant had gone a few minutes before.

There was no moving her, then. She was blind and deaf in her abject faithfulness to him. It was reassuring, yet terrifying; surely Emilia would be willing to follow him to Hell if she had to. Iago knew that he himself did not possess that same devotion to anyone--not even Emilia. It was just as she had asserted--he was too cowardly to love with abandon in the way that Emilia did.

But he was being too cold with her, chiding her as he did. He did not want to drive her away, as he had managed to do with everyone else. Emilia was the one ally he had left; it was incredible that he should keep her after all that had happened between them. He squeezed her hand gently, hoping to abate somewhat any sting of hers caused by his insensitive behavior...

“...I will not bring it up any further then, if it so displeases you,” he said quietly, without looking toward her. In a tone that just barely edged upon bitterness, he added, “I would that every man were as quick to forgive as you are, wife. You know that anyone else will disagree with you. In fact, I hardly think that anyone would have sought me out if not for your sake.”

  
  



	45. No More Secrets, No More Lies

Emilia sighed heavily as she tightened her own grip briefly upon Iago's hand, the gesture made partly in reassurance and partly in exasperation. Verily, she  _ knew _ she was being stubborn...unreasonably so, perhaps, but her vehemence regarding this matter was not something so easily cast aside; surely Iago had to recognize that. And perhaps he did-- surely, he would not forgive her the transgression of such impassioned speech else-- but neither could he seem to reconcile himself with the idea of one being so (deleteriously) faithful to him as to behave in such a way...why else would he disparage himself as he did?

Though such self-loathing was, she thought, remiss in him, she had glimpsed it more and more of late, and wondered whether Iago spoke merely to move her, to convince himself of his own worth...or whether he truly hated himself as he claimed, and cared not to hide the fact from her any longer. 

In faith, she did not like to doubt him, not now. Though her more cynical nature would fain believe the worst of him, all that she had come to expect over years of a callous and hostile marriage, her heart begged her mind to see, and listen, and take what words came forth from his mouth to be the truth. An ugly truth, undoubtedly...but a truth nonetheless: one that he could not bear to keep from the one person who held his heart. 

"I do not believe it to be so," she told him quietly, hoping to impart to him whatever comfort could be taken from her tentative words. "You cannot believe that I am the only one to care enough for your presence and well-being to seek you out in your absence." 

Pausing for a moment, she cast a fearful glance at the ground before raising her head once more in staunch resolve, boldly meeting Iago's shadowed gaze with only strength flickering in her eyes.  _ No more secrets. No more lies _ . 

"Though I admit that it was I who begged for a search, Othello was as concerned as I, fearing for a friend despite all that transpired twixt the two of you yesterday. I beg you to understand, Iago, that he is as grieved as you are. Your conflict has befuddled him, made him doubt both you and himself. I know not whether this will amend aught between you, and in faith, I should well understand if no effect it will indeed have...but I do beseech you, consider what is spoke comes from my honest observation. You would do well to heed it."

  
  



	46. Thou Inhuman Dog

“Pish!” Iago scoffed in spite of himself. He did not want to stir up any more conflict between Emilia and himself, but he could not help it now. Othello cared  _ nothing _ for him, regardless of their years of service spent together. It had been well-approved long ago. The general treated Iago with civility and nothing more--but Cassio? Cassio, that flirtatious, overbearing fop, was his right hand.

“What need has the Moor for a man like me, when he has so good a fellow as Michael Cassio by his side?” Iago spat derisively. “Any respect that the general may have had for me has been undoubtedly tainted, and I am well aware of the fact. You are not a liar, Emilia, so do not lie to me.” No, Emilia was not a liar; else the foolish wench might have learned how to keep her mouth shut in the face of danger. Yes, it was his fault that he had hurt her; to deny it was arrogance--but certainly it was  _ her _ fault that everyone else had learned of the occurrence. She claimed she had forgiven him, but she had done him the spite of losing him his reputation, his position--

Every vile thought and emotion that he had had of her began to rise up again, all at once, and Iago fought to keep them down. He turned to Emilia suddenly, with furious spontaneity--but no, he couldn’t be angry with his wife, not now. He directed the hatred toward its second target instead.

“What, did you fail to note how the Moor disregarded me? He hardly offered me so much as a glance as he went hence! He called me a stray--a dog--a cur,” he raved, aware of how idiotic he suddenly sounded. Struggling to regain control of his argument, he found himself making a personal attack. “If he was glad to see me, it was for your sake only. Heaven knows you certainly have a way of making other men fawn over you.”

It was out of his mouth before he could rein in his impulse, that one vague and envious paranoia. It was not quite an accusatory statement, but Iago was aware that the suspicions behind it were transparent. He scowled and looked away.

  
  



	47. Men Should Be What They Seem

_ "Heaven knows you certainly have a way of making other men fawn over you.” _ Those words, those nine devastating words...they filled Emilia's ears with rage, and filled her heart with a slow, sick horror that choked her as it crept its insidious, burning way along the column of her throat. What meant he by those words, those terrible, poisonous words?

Did he call her a whore? Even now, when peace seemed to have come between them and sentiments of jealous rage banished by the strength of her resolve to banish them henceforth? ...But that peace had been tenuous at best; even in her most deluded state, she could deny not that...not in the slightest. Had she not foreseen this very occurrence: that her husband's frangible control over his paranoiac's temper would snap thusly, leaving her at the mercy of the lion's crushing jaws once more? ...Had the man himself not feared that very thing?

In her own mind, her own heart, Emilia knew that every accusatory insinuation Iago spat from his lips like trenchant glass was incontestably false. No matter what passing fancies, what fleeting lusts she had entertained over the years when faced with other mens' kindness, her heart would always remain true to the one she had bound herself to. If other men found her attractive,  _ fawned over her _ , as her husband seemed to suspect, it was through no solicitation on her part. He twisted words and glances and actions out of proportion, making her into a villain she had never hoped to be, and never had been.  _ Men should be what they seem _ , he had told her once. Did not the same apply to women? Did she truly  _ seem _ such a harlot as that?

"You know you do not mean that," she said, her tone firm but calm as she recalled what innovation her temperance had made in causing the fire of his rage to abate yesternight. "If other men fawn over me, as you say, it is no fault of mine that they do so. You know that I am true, Iago; I have always been thus, and I always will be. I did not fail to see how you were... _ disregarded _ , but if Othello truly was not glad to see you, so much the worse for him, to disparage an old friend so. Still...I do not believe that was his heart's intent." Would to God he would hear her....

"But I see you are moved," she continued, more softly, more carefully, but increasing in fervor as she spoke, "and rightly so. Were I to be slighted in such a manner as that, I, too, would be thusly piqued." Let him make of  _ that _ what he would; her temperance did not mean that she could not berate the man for an undeserved insult. 

"The Moor does you a great disservice in taking Cassio to be the better man," she added...though, in her heart of hearts, she could be at all certain that she meant what she said...for no matter what manner of cad Cassio might have been, he truly  _ was _ , at least in some respects, the better man than Iago could ever hope to be...but that was not to say that she cherished him not, despite his imperfections, and so she kept on with her suit. "He has not half your experience afield; even one so untrained as I can see that he lacks entirely the knowledge needed to properly serve the lieutenant's position! If Othello sees this not, I reiterate: so much the worse for him...but it does not merit such ire, Iago. That will do naught if you do not care to work back into the general's favor once more."

Too late, she realized that the words might have had an irreparably deleterious effect...though what that effect could be, she knew not...and cared not to contemplate. It was too late to retract the words, but yet...she could only pray that they had not been misconstrued, and would not be stretched beyond what they were....

  
  



	48. Feelings Were Fickle

He felt the slight shock that ran through her as she processed the subtle accusation, and at once he hated himself for it. And yet, he hated her too, for she handled the remark with tact, gentleness, nobility… For some reason, he felt disappointed that she did not seem more hurt. For some reason, he felt a desire to see her devastated, completely torn apart, just as incurably injured as he himself had felt the night previous. He felt a mass of things, most of them horrid, all of them unspeakable...

But what did it matter what he felt? Feelings were fickle. He staunchly attempted to drown them all and turn his heart to stone.

_ You know that I am true _ , she told him, softly, but firmly. And she was right, for he did know it, even as his dark suspicions protested the truth.

“There is nothing I can do to put myself back in his favor,” Iago said impassively. “Perhaps the best thing to do would be to avoid drawing attention to myself…” He paused to measure his words, and then spoke again. “Do you feel better, Emilia, then you did yesterday?”

He did not know why he asked. Perhaps it was the way that Emilia had seemed to forget the fact that he had struck her. Surely it was not possible that she should still feel her hurts and yet forgive him… He knew that he could never do so. He glanced, sidelong, toward her face, and he could see the lack of sleep in the creases of her eyes and the anxiety in the nigh-imperceptible quivers of her lips. She was a rag doll that he could toss about, crush into the dirt, tear limb from limb, and yet every time she was still willing to be held in his arms.

  
  



	49. Slated For Slaughter

Iago's look was appraising, impassive...he watched her as though she were a lamb slated for slaughter, his deeply shielded humanity pitying her animal plight even as his more pragmatic wit cared not at all for the imminent mortal hurt that would even now be her end. He watched her as though he could not understand why she was so little moved, why she forgave him so easily for slights that ought to have been unmitigated by circumstance....

That was not to say that she was not at all moved, for indeed, she was: more than Iago might ever care to know. Still, 'twould be not meet to divulge that wounded bitterness to him, when his own hurts would fain overshadow the marks of a night's anxiety yet upon her...and then marks for his beast's hands yet fading about which he inquired. 

Truth be told, his query surprised her, even more than his despondency and utter lack of hope for the mitigation of his future could have done. She could not bear to consider that he had forgotten what he had done, that he cared not for her well-being...but in troth, she had done exactly that, and...that was unforgivable now. 

How often had she forced herself to remember of late that he was not a villain? How often had she forced herself to look past his cold and aloof shows, and her own ingrained cynicism and bitterness, to see in his mind remorse and guilt withal? Did she not now defile her own efforts, in believing so ill of him? Did that not make her a  _ villain _ of caliber equal?

  
"I do," she said softly, chiding herself in sorrow for thinking him so callous, so incapable of penitence. "And I thank you kindly for the asking...if you refer to my face, that is." Her  _ spirit _ , broken and battered and tossed about as it had been for two nights running, was another matter entirely.... "We have both, I think, spent nights too long and dark...." ... _ So I cannot in the affirmative answer you wholly, for I would make myself a liar if I did. _ But the words went unspoken. No use in banding them about where they might not be heard.


	50. Wherefore

A clever answer, an apt one. She felt no corporeal pain, as far as she was willing to say, but she felt pain nonetheless. Iago understood her this time. She had not forgotten what had happened. She did not give him a second chance purely for his benefit, but for her own. She did not actually believe that everything was still the same...but she  _ wanted _ to. And that was why she was so gracious to him… As much pain as he had already caused her, it would be more painful still for her to acknowledge that their marriage would never be anything but a broken and ill-fated one. He could see both hesitance and apprehension in her face.

_ Iago _ was the one who had come to encounter long, dark nights, and he had simply dragged Emilia down with him. It was all  _ his _ doing.

  
Wordlessly, Iago stopped in his tracks. With Emilia’s hand still grasped in his own, he turned abruptly and began to lead her a different way, one that did not lead to the fortress. He passed by small houses with thatched roofs and through the busy marketplace, paying no heed to the people around him. He had a vague idea of where he was going, but  _ wherefore _ \--he knew naught except that it felt more imperative than did a prompt arrival at the Citadel.


	51. What Do You Now?

The sudden shift in direction gave Emilia pause; she was very nearly inclined to pull her hand from Iago's strong grasp as he strode purposefully down the street, heedless of the way she tripped and floundered in a vain attempt to keep up. Her husband's pale eyes were resolute, fixed firmly forward as though he hastened to put as much distance as was possible between himself and the Citadel...and she, affixed to him as she was physically (to say nothing of the obligations of heart that to him bound her most strongly), could do naught but follow, though her mind rebelled in forced ignorance of the man's intent. 

"Iago!" she cried, heaving a sigh of exasperation as she was made to trot beside him, feeling much like a willful, errant dog who had her master profoundly displeased...though she could not think of aught that she had said or done to merit such sudden upset, such an unforeseen migration. "What do you now; where do you go?"

Was he truly so keen to avoid the general, and the revelation of his relegation to his comrades, that he would depart like this? Or did he lead her astray of their course to chastise her, for some misdemeanor that she knew naught of and had committed only in the recesses of his fevered mind? She could only pray it was the former...selfish of her to hope, she knew...but then, that could not well be helped.

  
  



	52. At World's End

Emilia was clearly surprised to see that he was taking her a different way, as evidenced by her less-than-graceful outbursts. But, seeming to fight against some distant compellation to let go of his hand, she followed him all the same, simply quickening her steps to match up with his. How very apt indeed, Iago thought drily.

But his wife was not simply surprised; she was alarmed as well. She suspected that there might be danger at the end of their path...heaven knew that life had given her sufficient reason to suspect so. And yet, even in the anticipation of danger, she still followed? A goodly wench indeed.

Aware of her discomfiture, and not wanting to run the risk of making her fall, lest he become the cause of a  _ second _ bodily injury, Iago slowed his pace to some degree, but he did not stop. He could not stop. Nor did he answer her--his lips refused to move. He continued on as if she had never spoken, or as if he had never heard. It was then that he realized what he was doing--he was testing her. Seeing how long it would be until she let go. Waiting until she unraveled her fingers from his and decided to give up on him, because she had no idea where he was going and had no care to follow him any longer.

Well. Perhaps that was rather poetic. In honesty, he was not entirely certain what his purpose was. Perhaps he simply did not want to return to the Citadel, from whence he believed himself banished, exiled… Perhaps he did not want Emilia to return to Desdemona, because he was selfish and could not stand the idea of her entertaining loyalties to anyone but himself. Perhaps there was no reason for it at all. Perhaps he might simply turn around again and head back in the correct direction, forcing his wife to disregard all of it without being given an explanation. Iago hardly knew the inner motive of his heart, disguised by his own lies as it was…

Through twisting streets. Past cottages. Beyond crowds. He continued, a maze being created with his footsteps--a maze that echoed the state of his mind--and then, perhaps half a thousand footfalls later, he stopped, staring straight ahead as he registered their location.

His feet had taken them to a cliff at the very edge of the village that overlooked the sea. In the distant horizon beyond, the greenish-blue water met with the pale blue of the sky, and the mid-morning sunlight glistened on the waters magnificently, dancing upon the waves like a child without a care. Faint, demure wisps of cloud coyly lengthened themselves across the heavens, catching light from the sun and showing off their forms. Down, down, far below them, the incoming tide crashed peremptorily against the walls of rock, causing sea spray and the smell of salt to fly upward. Had he stood here, in this very spot, before? He thought he remembered doing so the night before--but when he had done so then, it had not looked like this.

Iago breathed.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus began my accidental habit of associating Iago with sea cliffs. Thanks, Jess. XD


	53. Here, There, Nowhere

Emilia breathed. The edge of the cliff was steep, littered with sharp outcroppings of rock and slick tussocks of grass that sloped away sharply to meet the depths of the turquoise ocean below, and Iago stood at the very lip of the precipice, gazing into the waves now calm and scintillant with an expression dark and inscrutable, paying no mind to the shocked, disturbed form of his wife staring devoted by his side.

His grip had slackened, lost in some quagmire of reverie as he was, and Emilia slipped her hand cautiously from his, backing away from the cliff's edge until the racing rhythm of her heart slowed, and the organ dislodged itself from its leap of terror into her throat. This was madness, complete and utter madness; had she been able to bid him pause and lend ear to her importunate declarations, had she known that his feet meant to lead him here, to this siren's lair of profound beauty that led only to brutal death...she would have dragged him back by force, vituperated him for his mad mark that remained to her yet hidden, demanded him  _ why _ , of all places, he had led her  _ here _ ....

What did he hope to gain? If he truly wished to test the limits of her devotion to him, might he not have done so in any other way but this, led her to any other place but  _ this _ , this ledge that screamed of suicidal intent? Was he truly so deep in his grief that he would forsake all thoughts of duty, marital obligation, ambition, and aught else withal to come to this place, that she might be forced to bear witness to his most untimely demise? In faith, he could not have despised her so wholly as to wish such pain upon her...!

...But perhaps he did.  _ Know you what it is, _ he had demanded, he had raged,  _ to have all you have worked for, all you have known, torn away from you in one fell swoop? _ No. She did not. She had not then, and she did not now, no matter how deeply she had suffered in the interim of his disappearance, no matter how greatly she mourned their desperate, mad union and longed only for the reward of his love, resigned to being forever denied. When all was said and done, she could move past the rejections, the hurts, the slights...and she had thought that he could have done so, as well. O, how wrong she had been...how terribly, gravely wrong. 

"Iago," she whispered, forlorn, watching him unmoved from her safe seat of distance, even as her heart ached and begged to go to him. ...O, fie. What she had to say, she could say from here. Though every fiber of her being yearned to be near at hand...there was no chance in risking her own life. He wished to test her? Very well; she would oblige. She would not spurn him, as he seemed so confident she would do, but neither would she move to console him. Neither would she blindly follow him into whatever hells tormented him now. Not until she had wrung the truth from his lips. 

"Will you not speak?" she demanded, feeling some puissant flash of resolve akin to fire flood her veins. "Will you not tell me, husband mine, what make you here? What foul mischief works upon your blood, to bid your feet come to this place? Truly, Iago, I think you mean to...to...." And there it was. No matter how hard she tried, she could not force the words from her tongue.  _ I think you mean to kill yourself _ . She could not say it...lest some divine, hellish hand wrench his fate, and make her words the cold, unhappy truth she feared so much....

"Tell me," she whispered, feeling tears leak from her eyes unbidden, finally conceding to the cries of her heart, finally going to him to grip him about the shoulders, meeting the lion's direful eyes without fear. "I can bear your silence no longer, Iago... _ tell me what you do here _ ."

  
  



	54. Jump

She wept. She thought he was going to jump. The idea of jumping had not occurred to him, but he knew that it was there, somewhere, in the recesses of his mind... Perhaps it was  _ that  _ subtle, insidious thought that had brought him here. But even if it was, Iago did not think he could bring himself to do it. To kill himself was to admit defeat and to ensure the victory of his enemies. And as for Emilia… To jump would be the worst thing that he could ever do to her. She stood right behind him, her fingers trembling against his shoulders, tears coursing down her cheeks. If he forced her to watch his death...it would be the worst possible punishment. A punishment that she did not deserve, even if it was one that  _ he  _ deserved a hundred times over...

But the biggest reason of all why he could not do it...was because Emilia was right. He was a coward, just as she had accused. His very instinct protested against the action that whatever was left of his mind urged. He clung to his empty survival, his purposeless breath, like a blood-sucking parasite, desiring to hang on just long enough to capture its next victim...

“I do nothing here,” Iago murmured, breaking his gaze from the sea before him and meeting Emilia’s eyes. Lifting his hands, he slowly wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs.

He found he could not look away. There, in her eyes, were all of the years they had spent together, all of the times he had hurt her. Her eyes were windows that he could look right through to see her shattered soul. He could see all of the pain he had wrought...hurt, rejection, hopelessness, forsakenness--they all pooled together in these eyes and spilled out in her tears. Her tears were the venom that he had injected into her with all of his hatred, his callousness.

But no matter how sorry he was, there was nothing he could do. He would hurt her again. He did not know how to stop this mad, diseased cycle… It was beyond his power.

Iago did not believe that he had come here with the intent that his wife was sure of. But as he stared, transfixed, into the hurting, pleading eyes, the tears seeming to become drops of blood that he was responsible for shedding, he heard the voice that would not leave him alone…

_ Jump. _

  
  



	55. Let Us Away

_ I do nothing here _ ...those four words, the first to trickle forth from his lips in what seemed an eternity, were faint to Emilia's ears, lacking in both conviction and verity...and O, how she trembled at it. How her body betrayed her, quivering in fear of some unforeseen saturnine end of whose happenings she did not dare guess at. How her mind misgave, hearing in those enervated words a craftily connived balm, hoping and failing to sooth her soul ere making consciously some grievous error, some deathly leap of desecrated fate....

He stared into her eyes as one transfixed, as though he saw in them what no one else could ever hope to see. He stared as though the tears streaming forth from her eyes unhindered-- despite his wiping them away-- were wrought of blood, all the blood within her that he had envenomed and embittered and spilt over the years. He stared as a man haunted, by ghosts she would shudder at knowing, by thoughts too tangled and monstrous to ever see the light of day. ... _ He stared as one for whom escape from torment could ne'er be possible _ . 

She knew what he was thinking. She could hear the whispered, insidious thought as clearly as if he had said it aloud; she  _ knew _ . Though the machinations of his fragmenting mind were a mystery to her yet, the fabric of his thoughts even more so...she could guess at this one with neither hesitation nor doubt.

Her own fears doubled, tripled, as she perceived her guesswork to be, in point of fact, the indisputable truth. What could she say, what could she  _ do _ , to stop him, if this really was what he desired? She, who had sworn with conviction to catch him always if he fell...could not catch him now; she had not the strength of hand, no matter what tempests of fortitude her steadfast heart would lend her. He would not listen to her reasoning, her pleas; he never did.

...But who was she, what manner of viper would she be to turn from him now? Her heart was irrevocably tied to his, no matter what mischance burned at their shared strings. Nay, she would stay by him always...until the bloody end. That was a promise she would never dare to break.

"Come," she whispered, too fearful, too spent to say aught else. "I have no judgment for you now, nothing to demand. Let us away, Iago...."  _ Please. Please, I beg of you, with all my heart, all my mad, mad love...let us away. Please God, let there be no death this day. _

  
  



	56. Needn't Die (A Second Time)

There was something new in the eyes, now; there was fearful acknowledgement in her gaze. The tears would not stop. The coral lips moved. She was begging for him to return to her, for even as he stood before her with his hands upon her face, they both knew he was far, so very far away.

He was lost, somewhere where neither reason nor pathos nor aught else could reach him. He did not hear Emilia’s words, but the shrieks and sobs of the past reverberated in the caverns of his mind… Like flashes of light, he watched the strikes that he had dealt that terrible night hit their mark, again and again and again… He saw Emilia’s solitary form as she lay, stifled with unspeakable fear for him, in the bed that he should have shared with her… He heard himself chastise her, heard himself call her names that she had not earned, heard himself strike her… In all the years he had known her, he had never once done anything to benefit her. He had wasted her goodness with the malevolence that thrived and twisted like thorned vines around his heart...

He took a step back, his fingertips slipping from her wet cheeks.

There was nothing waiting for him here, if he should stay. He had lost everything that he had ever wanted to gain.

Except for Emilia. He had not yet lost her.

But Emilia would have been better off had she never met him. She was never meant to be his. He had robbed her of her future, of her happiness, of her innocence…

Another step.

He was standing at the edge of the precipice. He could feel it at his heels. One more step, and he would fall.

He had never taken his eyes off of Emilia. The look on her face, so full of terror, of pain, of ineffable despair, was the worst thing he had ever seen. One more step, and he would murder that invincible spirit forever.

It was the look on her face that killed him. He had not moved, but he was already dead. He needn’t die a second time.

Iago turned and spat dispassionately over the edge of the cliff, his spittle falling and mingling with the frothy ocean below.

  
  



	57. The Pity Of It All

Emilia watched with bated breath as Iago stepped back towards the cliff's edge. Once. Twice. His eyes, those pale, minatory eyes she had come to know, to fear, to love so well, never strayed from hers, never so much as blinked in their dread resolve...and she, damned as she was, could not bear to look away.

This was it. This was the end: of Iago, of her marriage, of life as she knew it, be it fraught with tension, rage, and fear, or filled with blessed happiness...it would all be gone in an instant. The moment he took that one, final step back, he would end not only himself, but  _ her _ . For she  _ would _ die with him; within her soul, she would die with him.  _ To the end. To the bloody, cursed end _ . And O, how true, how terribly true it was. 

...And though her heart wept, tore itself to pieces at the thought...she could do nothing. Her body was frozen, stark and static like the coldest stone. Whether it came from trepidation, or pity, or acceptance resigned...she knew not which, nor did she much care. What use would it serve to analyze  _ her _ sentiments at present, when every second spent in hesitation could be another second aimed at forcing Iago to see reason...saving his life?

When he turned, she had to close her eyes. O, the horror, the  _ pity _ of it all...! She could not bear to look. 

...But when the grass's telltale rustle came not upon her ears, when the direful splash of a body hitting the waves she so feared remained unsung...it was shock that forced her eyes to open, to behold her husband staring into the churning sea below with clinical, black contempt. His gaunt, bandaged hand came up slowly to wipe at his mouth, and Emilia, stunned almost to faintness by the euphoria of death averted, moved up behind him, barely aware of what she did, and placed her trembling hands upon his shoulders. 

_ He had not jumped. _ He had not jumped...and strange as it may seem...she could not have been more confused as to what she felt.

  
  



	58. Life And Death

Iago wiped his lips with the back of one hand, the bandages upon it rough against his chin. The saliva he had expelled was indistinguishable, invisible now amidst the rest of the foaming waves. The waters below did not seem to mourn his absence; they continued to crash against the rocks with the same amount of zeal as before... Certainly the seas were no more enthusiastic to receive him than was anyone else. Even Death itself did not want such a devil as he…

Even as this thought darkened his mind, he felt hands upon his shoulders, delicately shaking hands, whose fingertips possessed an ephemeral touch. Without turning around, he placed his own fingertips atop the ones that were already there, continuing to stare into the face of the fate that, a minute ago, he had been ready to welcome. He  _ would _ have welcomed it...embraced it, perhaps, if not for Emilia… By heaven, he was just as bound to her as she was to him.

But why, why was it  _ now _ that he had been struck by this mad and unholy desire to murder himself? And with  _ Emilia _ here? Why had it not been last night, when he had been wet and cold and a hundred times more mentally unsound than he was at this moment? Why had he ever wanted to do it at all? The indifferent waves, aloof and unconcerned, looked more and more unfriendly as he watched...

...It was because of Emilia that he had wanted to commit the damning deed, and it was because of Emilia that he had stopped himself. For, if he lived, he would do nothing but continue to hurt her. But if he died, his death would haunt her for every day of her life. There was nothing he could do to escape what had been preordained… He pressed Emilia’s fingertips between his own as if afraid that she would slip away if he did not hold on.

But the waves still mesmerized him. They mocked him, called him coward as they continued to splash, laughing, against the rocky walls below. He was a coward, for he could not face life; he was a coward, for he could not face death. He lingered somewhere betwixt the two. He did not live, for he had lost all he had lived for. He was not dead, for he could still feel the pain of what he had lost.

But he could feel Emilia, too. Was he dead man, then, or one yet living?

  
  



	59. Cold, Cold As Ice

Iago's thin fingers were a grounding weight against her own, and Emilia kept her hands against his, fearful that he would take flight of her any moment, despite his previous contempt...for he gazed into the waves yet absorbed, his gaze dark, and he grasped her as tightly as she did him, as though she were the only thing keeping him bound to this Earth.

O, how she wanted to speak! How she longed to take him in her arms, and lead him away from this place of such death and destruction and terror! And he, she thought, she  _ hoped _ , would follow, as eager to leave this all behind as she....

...But that, she realized, as she continued to gaze upon him, might ne'er come to fruition, remaining a propitious fantasy within her mind's own heart. The waves still held him spellbound: those cursed, uncaring waves, crashing relentlessly on, heedless to the turmoil they bore witness to above, heedless of the soul they might have been able to claim. They whispered, and broke, and sang their unearthly siren's song, and Iago was still held mercilessly within its thrall...did he not realize that all he cared about, all that cared for him was right  _ here _ ? What thought would that balmy Mediterranean sea give him if he  _ had _ jumped, if he  _ had _ met its embrace? ...None. None whatsoever.

...His fingers were chilled against hers. What had always been warm, no matter the circumstance, were now cold as ice, cold as his eyes...and she shuddered at it. For if those hands were cold, then the heart that fed them blood was equally so...and if the heart was cold, then it was already dead. It beat for her...perhaps...but then, too, it beat its last. A living death. Heart, hands, eyes, and mind...cold, cold as ice.

  
  



	60. Do Not Weep

Slowly, Iago let his fingers slide from Emilia’s, turning around to face her. That same look on her face had not left, though it was muted by whatever relief she had gleaned from the fact that he had decided not to die today. He looked at the ground, unable to stare into those tragic, beautiful, incriminating eyes that silently betrayed his villainy and exposed his black heart with naught but their tears…

He took a step forward. Towards Emilia. Towards life.

Another step. His hands found their way around her waist.

A third. He had her in his arms. He dropped his head upon her shoulder, as though it were a weight that he was weary of carrying.

What was there to say? There were no words that Iago could conjure, none that would convey anything of worth. He gradually let his arms encircle Emilia, his forearms coming to rest at the small of her back.

He had not lost  _ all _ he had lived for… He lived for Emilia. He lived for her still...

“I am sorry. Do not weep,” Iago muttered as he held her, knowing that his words did nothing,  _ were _ nothing, meant nothing. He was sorry--perhaps he wasn’t. Do not weep--she would weep anyway. Anything he said was as inconsequential as a single teardrop in a tossing ocean, and it could not be helped. He repeated his useless words, hearing the dark timbres of despair within them. “I am sorry. Please don’t weep.”

Though Emilia did nothing of the sort physically, Iago inexplicably felt as though she were pushing him away, a bleak illusion of the broken mind.

  
  



	61. For His Soul

" _ Do not weep, _ " Iago said, " _ please do not weep _ ," but such was the despair, the darkness in his voice, that Emilia was not wholly certain if she could heed his words. Verily, she longed to be able to cease her whimpering-- forsooth, she must have looked quite the sight, weeping so uncontrollably, like a frightened child! ...But the tears would not mind the vituperations uttered by her cynical mind, and continued to flow, though she remained all but unaware of their passage. 

" _ I am sorry _ ." Useless. All of it, utterly useless, utterly false. He believed not his own words any more than did she; his dispirited tone was evidence enough of  _ that _ . And she...years of being cast aside, scorned...and yes,  _ abused _ , had ingrained within her the notion that Iago could ne'er be sorry for any deed of his. Even now, when that notion had been disproven so greatly, she doubted him, mistrusted his intent and sentiment....

...Heavens above, what manner of shrew did this make her? Had she not seen, time and time again over the course of these three days past, what havoc remorse could wreak upon this man her husband?  _ How dare you think him incapable of contrition, of sorrow! _ she chastised herself.  _ Did those very things not lead him...lead US...here? In faith, do not misgive him so, for shame! _

Indeed, she could not have explained from whence her sudden choler had arisen. Perhaps her fears of these moments past, so grievous and heavy in her heart, worked upon her blood now, struggling to make themselves known in the only way they could. 

...And, in troth, some part of her did, in point of fact, scorn Iago but slightly for even contemplating such a cowardly act. He was a soldier, for God's sake, and an ambitious one at that! 'Twould be not meet for him to come upon such an end...not for his soul, darkened beyond redemption as it may have been...and neither for her own sake. For if his soul was irreparably blackened, so too was hers thus besmirched, for too much loving him.

Allowing herself to relax at last in his tremulous embrace, she brought one hand up to caress his gaunt cheek, as it lay upon the bony blade of her shoulder, weary of the weight of torments the head it belonged to had every day to bear. Her other hand buried itself within the tangled, matted locks of his hair, and she gave herself over to him in heart once more, daring Heaven and Hell and all withal to do them part.

"I know," she whispered, needing to reassure herself as much as she did him. "I know you are sorry; you need say more than that...only...."  _ No more secrets. No more lies _ . "Only promise that you will...that you will not...." Lord, why did her tongue fail her now? Why? Why?

A sigh escaped her, a brief, vivifying sigh. "Promise me that you will not again attempt such a thing. I weep for your life, Iago, you realize? That it was nearly lost to me...i'faith, I could not bear it, and I care not if you scorn me for the telling." 

She had found her strength. She had revealed to him her heart...and could only pray that he would not break it again.

  
  



	62. Pride Goeth

Why,  _ why _ did Emilia always ask promises of him that he did not know if he could keep? She had asked him to promise that there would be no more distance between them, and he had  _ not _ promised it--a fortunate circumstance, in any case, seeing as it would have been swiftly broken anyway. Now she asked him to promise that he would not seek to permanently end the struggles with the demons in his head. Iago had probably made a hundred promises that he could easily break without a qualm, but none of them to Emilia. He could not bring himself to break a promise to Emilia. Therefore, it was better to simply never make the promise in the first place...

But if he denied her the promise, he denied her the right to breathe without being choked by constant fear. And that he could not do...

“...I will promise it,” Iago said finally, “if you will promise that no word regarding what I have nearly done reaches the ears of another living soul.”

_ Coward! _ his heart cried. How dare he coerce her in this manner? Would he oppress her so much, as to hold his own life over her head, so that if she broke her promise, he would be at liberty to break his? And for what purpose? It did not matter now if the individuals he had once been familiar with learned of this incident--he had little respect to his name now; he had been stripped of his rank, stripped of his dignity. He was insignificant now. Invisible. It did not matter. It did not matter! Apathy replaced ambition, ripped it to shreds and turned it to dust... He simply did not care.

He did not look at her. “I take it back,” he corrected himself emotionlessly. “I will make my promise and ask nothing in return. I will not have you lie for me; your tongue is too pure for falsehoods. That, I have learnt too well. Tell whomever you please. It matters not to me.”

He hated the words as he spoke them, for he knew that they were not true; it  _ did _ matter to him, somehow... He was still Iago; he still kept his pride, even if he had not his honor.

  
  



	63. She Had Not Won

Emilia bit her nether lip in distress as Iago spoke, hating the ambiguity, the utter apathy that ran through his indecisive, muttered words. That he cared not if she his affairs made known to all and sundry...in faith, her husband of old, possessing such an inclination towards privacy of thought, would ne'er have condoned such an action, much less made mention of it. For him to do so now....

...Truly, she had not won. Though she had (apparently) saved his body, his physical life, his spirit was broken beyond repair...and had been for a while, she realized with dread alacrity: perhaps for a greater length of time than she had ever thought foremost. He seemed not to care for aught that had once moved him, driven him to action...and she, in failing to save those inherent parts of him, in failing to recognize that they were ever first departed...she had failed him utterly, and in failing  _ him _ , she had failed herself, her own mission.... For how could she redeem one already lost?

...And yet...she would not forsake him, whether he cared or not. Even if it mattered not to him what she did with this knowledge, this experience...in faith, it mattered to  _ her _ . Though often in the past she would curse his pride, his unwillingness to impart upon anyone the secret dealings of his thought...she would keep his secret now, for his sake. There was no need for him to hold his life over her head as incentive, for she held it within her hands already; he knew that as well as she. She would do as he begged...if not out loud, then within his heart, his dark, turbulent heart. She would remain silent. This day's sorry events need touch no one's ears but their own. 

"Fear not my government," she told him, needing no appreciation of her actions on his part to strengthen her resolve. "This day is safe with me. It may matter not to you, your dignity, but I would fain have you return to life with it still intact." She smiled at him then, slightly, hoping he would not misconstrue her words as slight, for she meant them, with all her heart. O, God in Heaven, she meant them.

  
  



	64. An Angel

Emilia’s smile was so earnest, so...pure, that Iago felt an inexplicable shame to look upon it. The soft tones of her voice washed over him gently, unlike the turbulent waves of the thrashing sea below, managing to soothe his spirits even as he doubted her words… She bade him put his faith in her; she assured him that she would not ope her lips, would not disclose their secrets--and as much as he would fain believe her assertions, he found that he could not help but withhold his trust. Had she not said the same, regarding that unhappy incident that had begun this dizzying descent? Perhaps she had not said she would keep quiet...but Iago had believed that she would. His faith in her had been lost, and he was wary of giving it her again…

But what could be done? He was forced to trust her now.

Iago nodded silently, for he still felt that his words were nothing but air; they conveyed syllables, words, but no meaning behind them, no truth. He sensed that Emilia knew it too.

...He could think of one thing to say, though it was unrevolutionary, inconsequential; it would change nothing and would not improve those tenuous ties between them. Regardless, however, he bade his lips move to form the words that composed the cheerless thought.

“What have I ever done, to be given such an angel?”

Those were the words that he whispered into her neck, and though they altered naught and brought no magical transformation upon them, Iago felt, strangely, that they were not a waste of his breath.

  
  



	65. Only Fools Rush In

She could see the struggle in his eyes, though she sensed he tried desperately to keep it concealed from her. She could see how he railed against trusting her to silence once more...and why should he not fear? For she  _ had _ betrayed such a credence but one day past, if inadvertently...in faith, she had been coerced into the telling, both by Othello's urgings and her own blasted feelings of guilt and injustice, but that made the deed no less a betrayal for that. 

_ Have faith in me! _ she wished to say, her lips trembling in an effort to keep back the tide of imploring words.  _ Have faith in my goodness, my integrity, as I have faith that you are a better man than you seem! Just as I make myself to believe you are NOT such a villain as they all accuse you of being, so too should you know that I, your wife, hold in loyalty you above all else, profess due to YOU my lord...in faith, I would not abuse your trust, were it freely given! _

But the words never came, for what good would they do? Would they sway Iago's mind, make her promise amenable to his suspicion and paranoia? ...No. No, they would do naught, just as any words of his would be equally inutile. They were both bound to unhappy silence...and O, how she hated it.

So deep, so parlous was her reverie that she nearly missed his query, whispered and emotionless and sorrowful beyond the ability of her heart to bear...but hear them she did, and she could feel, ruefully, yet another tear welling up in her eye as the sound met her ears, though she would have thought she had no tears yet left. 

" _ What have I ever done, to be given such an angel? _ " What could she say to that? Could she tell him he had done nothing, that she had bound herself to him of her own accord, foolish in the throes of youthful heat and romance? Could she bear to speak those words, not knowing if they were entirely the truth? 

A better woman than she might have turned on him then, declaring haughtily that he had  _ not _ deserved her: never had and never would, no matter what amends he made. ...But she was not such a shrew; she was not so cold-hearted. For she  _ did _ stay of her own volition, despite his near-constant maltreatment of her...and what did that say about  _ her _ , but that she was an utter fool in her unadulterated devotion?

  
  



	66. For All Eternity

Emilia did not speak, nor did she offer him any reaction that might reveal her thoughts toward his statement. But that was not beyond the compass of expectation, for Iago had not expected a reply... They both knew what the answer was, they both knew what he had done to merit so good a wife:  _ nothing _ . He had done nothing to deserve her, nor anything to make himself worthy of her. He knew it.  _ She  _ knew it, and even if she had loved him  _ twice _ as much as she did claim, she would not be able to tell him otherwise; would not be able to tell him that ay,  _ ay _ , he did deserve her...for Emilia could not say what she knew was false any more than Iago could say what he knew was true.

An unnerving thought began to unsheath itself from within the depths of his soul... He did not deserve Emilia, no; but then again, could  _ any _ man deserve this woman, who set her own cares aside so easily and forgave the wickedest of deeds without a trace of begrudging? Forsooth, hardly, for no man was any more than that which he had been born as; every man had his vice. Man had never existed that could truthfully claim a pure breast, untouched by any evil whatsoever. Thus it was then-- _ no  _ man could deserve Emilia.

But, the  _ lieutenancy _ .  _ That _ was a different matter, for there were men who deserved it amidst those men that deserved it not. Even if Iago did not deserve his wife, it was still feasible that he should deserve that position he had so long fixed his eyes on--he had believed it for months, years…a lifetime, perhaps, for he had anticipated greatness in his future even as a boy. But suppose...suppose that he did not deserve to be lieutenant any more than he deserved to be Emilia’s husband? The thought destroyed him, even as he tried in vain to block it from his mind. The position had, admittedly, been the professed purpose of his life and blood for so long.

_I am a ghost of a man_ , thought Iago bitterly as Emilia finally began to usher him away from the place where they stood, speaking soft words to him as she did. Though he nodded in mute acknowledgement, he could hardly comprehend a word she spoke. _I am a phantom who wanders, of no more substance than those demons that haunt me._ _I lack dignity to elevate me above the beasts of the world; I lack esteem to ground my feet to this earth... I lack everything, and therefore...I am nothing._

It was a corpse that Emilia guided in her arms toward the Citadel. Iago felt as if his soul had left his body and leapt into the rolling waves of the Cypriot sea, to be tossed and tormented for all eternity.

  
  



	67. Bounds Of Fabrication

...Truly, this was beyond humiliating. Roderigo could only thank all heavenly powers above that the Moor and the lieutenant were too absorbed in their discourse with each other to take much notice of his flustered personage. Ordinarily, he would have been rather ill-disposed to being ignored or disregarded in any venue, but he was, even now, floundering behind the strong, capable pair as they strode confidently towards the Citadel, hopelessly inept and uncertain to the point of actually being able to admit to himself the horrid fact. 

No matter how honest necessity forced him to be, however, he could not repress the lamentations of his pricked ego, which longed almost to have remained with Iago and his Emilia, that she might have bestowed upon him the generous laudations of a wife too grateful to be reunited with her wayward husband to care overmuch for the bumbling fool who had discovered him...not that he would confess to being such a fool, of course. Taking credit for Iago's recovery, though...ay, that he  _ would  _ do, without hesitation...if not as a favor to a comrade, then in an effort to reconstruct and re-erect his voluminous pride and sense of self-worth.

In troth, had he not been yet leery of Iago's humor, he would have stayed with nary a question asked or answered. 'Twas only the lasting twinge in his arm that bade him be thus chary, and it was precisely this minor physical discomfiture that exacerbated his other hurts and complaints, all wrought by exertion...in faith, his body was not much accustomed to such vigor, and he envied the Moor and the gentleman lieutenant their ease of movement, even as he bemoaned the seemingly interminable distance left to the Citadel. 

"Why, Roderigo, did you concur with the decision of disguising yourself as a  _ soldier _ ?" he grumbled, too disgruntled and taxed to pay much mind to others' hearing of his miseries...though he did retain wit enough to keep his voice low, out of some misplaced sense of duty to his friend and partner in deception. ...Were he to be truthful with himself, he knew quite well  _ why _ : a soldier's disguise was the most easily assumed and least quickly questioned in war, and he had not been at all disposed to affecting the appearance of a sailor or a servant...but truly, he was as unfit to bear this rank as he was any of those detested others! He could only hope that Cassio and the Moor would not think to question 'Lucentio' overmuch upon their arrival at the Citadel, lest he stray from his preferred bounds of fabrication.

  
  



	68. Guilty In Earnest

Though immersed in conversation with the general, Cassio could not keep himself from referring back to the strange, impassioned confession that Iago had spewed forth. In faith, the man had  _ wept _ , which till today Cassio ne’er might say before… Had he been too quick to judge the man? Or was he, even now, being too quick to believe in Iago a morality that he simply did not possess, no matter what tears he feigned?

Weary of his confusion, Cassio ran his fingers through his hair and glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting that Emilia and Iago might have caught up with them by now. Instead he saw only the soldier Lucentio, who seemed to be struggling to keep up his pace. Strangely, Cassio had never noticed Lucentio before this day…not that he paid much attention to the soldiers below his rank. Most likely, Lucentio had only been very recently recruited, perhaps just before the departure from Venice.

As they approached the gate of the Citadel, Cassio found himself looking back again, hoping to see that Emilia was safe and in sight--but once more, the ancient and his wife were nowhere to be seen. Once they had entered the fortress, the lieutenant turned to the general, placing a familiar hand upon Othello’s shoulder.

  
“If you do not require me at present, sir, I think I should like to wait here at the gate and ensure that Iago and his wife arrive safely,” Cassio told him with a tone that was slightly more grave than he had wished it to be. Forsooth, it was Emilia for whom he worried, not especially her husband...but all was one, for Cassio had seen how distressed Emilia had been for Iago’s safety. He would concern himself with Iago, too, if only for Emilia’s sake… And perhaps, to give him the benefit of the doubt, for perchance Iago  _ was _ guilty in earnest…


	69. Sizable Efforts

Othello fixed Michael Cassio with a gaze probing and commiserative, hearing in his friend's voice the grave weight of his concern for the absent couple. Be that ill feeling for Emilia's sake, or Iago's, or both, he could not have guessed, but he would not begrudge the lieutenant his waiting, for, in troth, he could feel the weight of a like anxiety bearing down upon his own shoulders. That Emilia and Iago were not behind them as they ought to have been meant only that they could have turned around, and gone elsewhere...though to what end...he could not much divine  _ that _ , either. 

"Of course," he said smoothly, clapping one hand heartily upon Cassio's shoulder. "I have no need of you at present, or at least none that cannot stand to wait 'til a time more opportune, though you must accompany me within once the governor arrives. I would think it meet that you receive Emilia and Iago here, if only to ascertain their safety and well-being. Though I know not where they might have gone, I should not like for them to come to any harm...." And he meant the words; truly, with every fiber of his heart and soul he did. Though Iago was all but dead to him as friend and confidant, he could yet feel a measure of concern for one of his own, as much as he would for any troubled soldier amongst his ranks...and, in faith, the man was nothing if not that, at present. Neither did he bear Emilia any ill will, for a lady so virtuous and fierce should never be made to suffer, or worry so as she had done this morn. If she wished to reassure herself in her husband's company, who was he to deny her that right?

...And yet, he could not help but fear. Their reunion had appeared most happy, to be sure...but could he trust Iago's government; could he trust him to stay his hand should he find displeasure in his wife's desperate efforts to have him found? In troth, he wished-- how he  _ wished _ !-- that he could, yet...the memory of Emilia's weary and bruised visage was too fresh in his mind to give the former ensign any measure of credence. He almost wished to ask Cassio to seek the couple out, in lieu of awaiting their arrival here, in the event that his fears yet groundless might be coming to fruition even now....

...But that was absurd. At the very least, he could not bid the man stray too far from the Citadel, for his presence would certainly be expected ere long, once the governor arrived. And he could not mistrust his own man so...musings of such venom would serve only the blackest ills. 

"Come, then, sir," he said then, turning from his reverie with sizable effort as he addressed the young, bearded pup of a soldier who had followed them here, breathing heavily as he strove to put air back into his seemingly abused lungs. "Lucentio, was it? I would fain thank you for the service you have done me, and this force, in bringing Iago back safely." No need for the youth to know what troubles existed 'mongst his officers at present; he would tell the other men at some later date, once he had reassigned Iago's position to one more suitable...however much his heart might still have hoped for the demotion to be one of prompt termination. "You might do well to remain here with the lieutenant, for I will soon be calling him back within, and 'tis prudent we see Emilia and Iago arrive back here in safety."

  
  



	70. Caught

Cassio nodded towards the youth in an encouraging manner as the general gave the suggestion. “Your company would be most meet indeed,” he said to Lucentio grandly. “Feel free to wait here with me, if you wish to.” He was not loath to talk to this young soldier as he waited, for he was interested in finding out how the man had come to find Iago...and how Bianca had come to be there as well. In faith, it seemed that Cassio could go nowhere without fearing harassment from the lady--not that he minded overmuch. Still...Bianca could not possibly be a benefit to his name.

The lieutenant saluted smartly as Othello and his men continued past them...ah, yes, the governor of Cyprus was expected to meet and discuss those defense plans that Iago had assisted with two days past. How strange, that so much had occurred in those two days that had changed Cassio’s opinions of the man almost entirely…

Shaking off these dark thoughts, Cassio turned again to Lucentio with a conversational smile. “Has the lady Emilia yet extended her thanks to you?” he asked the soldier amiably. He was not entirely certain, but he thought that Emilia might have been too preoccupied with the discovery of her husband to bother with cordialities. “If she has not, let me assure you that I know she will shortly. In faith, you can hardly know just how much you have helped her… I know not if you have been acquainted already with the ensign’s wife, but she is a most wise, most gentle creature, and Iago is quite the lucky man to have caught her. Speaking of which...how did you happen to come across her husband?”

Ay, “her husband”... The focus was still Emilia, and Iago was only mentioned in relation to her.

  
  



	71. Sudden Penchant For Deception

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Roderigo finds his brain...

Roderigo froze slightly as the lieutenant directed his attentions towards him; the man's sharp dark eyes, his most salient feature, seemed to pierce his very soul in hopes of discerning all the secrets and duplicitous statements that, for his friend's own sake, he had to sequester within...for he  _ had _ promised Iago that he would not, under any circumstance, relate to  _ anyone _ the manner in which he had been found. Though the young Venetian was not quite sure  _ why _ this was to be so...who was he to question it? Iago had proved time and time again that he was the one with the brains, and Roderigo supplied the passion and money to keep their schemes alive, electing of his own volition to never question his intensely private, nearly paranoid comrade. As long as he was getting closer to winning his beloved Desdemona, Roderigo cared not how Iago spent his time.

Still, a commitment to maintaining an uncritical bond did not temper his curiosity...but whatever the reason behind his friend's earlier state of insensibility, he could be nearly certain that it was something Michael Cassio ought not to know; even he could divine that much. So he would honor his silence, he thought, resigning himself to furthering his sudden penchant for deception even as he fought to uphold a mien unassuming and thoughtful.

"In point of fact, I do believe the lady Emilia was too deep in her relief to take the time to thank me," he replied, deftly avoiding the second part of the lieutenant's query. "Still, I have no doubt that she is a woman most intelligent and gracious, despite my knowing her not, and I do not seek so much of her gratitude, for surely I have merited it not; I merely did what any good Christian man might do, in aiding a friend and setting a distraught wife at ease."

Well. What a fine thing  _ that _ had been to say...now he all but had to speak of Iago, did he not? Cassio would surely find it suspect if he did not elaborate upon a point so craftily brought up...would he not? 

"As for Iago," he continued, hoping to keep his face clear of anything that might reveal his words to be even partly false, "I came upon him whilst making my way here, early this morn. I knew not that he had been missing till you yourself mentioned the fact; I simply met him on the road." There. That was not a total falsehood, keeping both his and Iago's integrity intact...with luck, the gentleman lieutenant would not think it amiss.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and learns how to use it.


	72. Acquaintances

The young soldier’s tale was rather prosaic, though Cassio knew not why he should have expected to hear anything grand. Nevertheless, the lieutenant nodded in acknowledgment. But what might that import, that Iago had simply been wandering about the town, even in the full knowledge that he had promised his wife his return? If Cassio were to judge by perception alone, he might attribute Iago’s delayed return to that unwonted display of regret the former ensign had shown...which still baffled him, to say the least.

“‘Tis very well then,” Cassio acquiesced in response to Lucentio’s explanation, with a second nod of the head, simply for lack of action. “Though it has become habit as of late for me to wonder at Iago’s behavior...” he added absently, elusively, before remembering that he spoke aloud. “But pardon me--that’s hardly my business.” With lengthy strides and a clearing of the throat, Cassio approached closer to the gate, narrowing his eyes to see if he could bid any silhouette in the distance turn into the full-skirted form of Emilia and the lean frame of Iago.

What might have happened along the way in order to detain the poor couple? Marry, it was like enough that the two had simply been so absorbed in discussion that they had been largely hindered in their return. Certainly Emilia must have had much to say upon finding her husband. But might there be some other reason? Iago had not been averse to laying hand upon his wife, two nights previous… Though Cassio certainly felt cynical and mistrustful in the possession of his suspicions and doubts, he could not help but wish that Emilia and Iago had not been left alone, for the sake of some dark, abstruse feeling of apprehension within him...

“Are you friends with Iago, sir, that you know him?” the lieutenant asked presently, by way of conversation, though he extended the offer of discourse without taking his eyes from the horizon. “I was not aware that he had many...close acquaintances, as it were. He seems a rather reclusive fellow...if it be not rude to say so.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're wrong, Cassio, Iago is 100% a bro with all of the lads in his squad.


	73. Put It All Aside

Roderigo chewed upon his nether lip in poorly-disguised nervousness as he stood awkwardly beside the lieutenant, who appeared to be utterly absorbed in his scrutiny of the Cypriot horizon. 

If he were to be entirely honest with himself (an action he was not much accustomed to partaking of, and not much inclined to the doing, either), the man's query discomfited him considerably. True, what parts of his heart remaining devoted to Iago as a friend thought Michael Cassio gave him too little credit in his slight...but in faith...was not the man at least somewhat  _ right _ ? How wholly could he  _ really _ consider Iago a friend? 

Though Roderigo had known him long, theirs was a partnership more based upon mutual need and profit than aught else. Roderigo depended upon Iago to procure him some access to Desdemona, and gave little thought to him in any other circumstance. And for Iago...well, Roderigo could not imagine what  _ he _ stood to gain from all this, aside from the abject satisfaction of destroying the Moor. He knew not the reasoning behind that hatred, and frankly, did not much care to know. 'Twas all one, to him. 

Still...it would not be at all meet to relate any of that to Cassio, and indeed, Iago's service to him made him enough of a friend that Roderigo could... _ overlook _ what pains were wrought by waiting, and soldiering...and being sorely practiced upon in rain-soaked streets by night, floundering out of his depth in ignorance as to  _ why _ ...no, Cassio need not know any of  _ that _ . What little Roderigo contented himself with would be gratification enough for the lieutenant, too. 

  
"Indeed, I do profess myself his friend," he replied steadily, marveling slightly at the sheer  _ ease _ with which the half-truths flowed from his lips. In faith, he nearly fancied his skills in deception to rival with Iago's own...what satisfaction  _ that _ gave him, now. "And, if I may be so bold...reclusiveness does not necessarily bode friendlessness, lieutenant. I find sympathy, counsel, and companionship enough with the man that I may forgive his habitual refusal to make me privy to his thoughts and practices." That, at least, was all in all an indisputable truth...usually. 


	74. Elusive

“True enough; conduct does not necessarily denote actual character,” Cassio echoed, the words incontinently bringing to mind a different application than the one they had been used for. He made the motion of dusting off his doublet, as if dismissing the thought, and continued speaking. “Well then, if it be so, I have no judgment for you, sir. I am sure your reasons for placing trust in him are apt enough.” Presently, the swishing of Venetian skirts in the distance caught his eye, and he strained to determine if the wearer was she that he sought. As the figure came gradually closer, with a second one in her arms, the lieutenant became sure it was she.

“Ah, the lady Emilia!” Cassio beamed, exhaling deeply in the recognition that Emilia appeared wholly unhurt. Emilia was still some distance away and not quite near enough to recognize  _ him _ \--or rather, perhaps she was simply too occupied with her husband to bother with anyone else. With a quick nod to the sentries that stood guard, Cassio ventured forth to greet them.

Emilia had her arm placed about Iago’s back, as she had had throughout the entire journey, and with a sigh of relief she found herself placing her head to her husband’s shoulder and whispering, “There, now; we’ve nearly arrived.” She did not know who she sought to comfort more, her husband, or she herself...but that was of no import. She had brought him here, and now they were safe...for the time being.

As they came closer she became aware that Cassio was approaching them, but the best she could offer the lieutenant was a tenuous smile, one that quivered slightly in her fatigue and seemed almost likely to shatter. In faith, Emilia wanted nothing more than to be left at peace and not questioned… Perhaps this was what Iago felt like whenever he saw fit to be as elusive as he often was.

  
  



	75. One Spark Of Enduring Pain

Cassio could not have said for certain whether the young Venetian soldier made him a reply or no, for all his attentions were preoccupied in their intense scrutiny of the approaching couple...more specifically, of Emilia's visage.

True, the gentle lady did not appear hurt...but neither did she seem entirely well, were he to look upon her more closely. The small smile she wore seemed to waver upon her full lips, fragile as newly blown glass and equally transparent. What lay beneath the paltry facsimile of gracious ease was shadowed and dire...grief, he thought, and a weary sadness so absolute his tempered heart cried out at beholding it. 

Her arms were wrapped about Iago's spare frame as though she would die for letting go...and that in itself was mightily disconcerting, to say nothing of the sorrow so evident in her face and heart. And Iago...God help him, but Cassio could scarcely bear to look upon the man. The former ensign's pale eyes, once so sharp and bright with discerning intelligence and wit, were dark and cold and flat, staring haunted and unfeeling upon the ground. Empty. Devoid of life, devoid of aught but distant pain. Completely, utterly soulless, but for that one spark of enduring pain.

The lieutenant shuddered at it. What had  _ happened _ to this unhappy couple, in the interim of their unforeseen departure? What had they spoken of, what had they  _ done _ , to appear thus even now? In faith, he was not so sure now he truly wished to know...but know...he had to. Had it been something of dreadful note, it was his duty to amend what had gone so very, perspicuously wrong. 

"How now, Emilia?"  _ O, gentle Emilia, that looks dead with grieving, speak, I pray you, of what ills you have so recently suffered... _ but the thought went unspoken; to adulate and commiserate were not to endear to her him and his suit. Still, he addressed only Emilia, and made no pretense of acknowledging Iago. Damned as he was, he merited no such courtesy. "Glad we are to see you back; Lucentio and I both worried for you, as did the general, when we your company most unexpectedly lost. All is well, I trust?"

  
  



	76. Jaded

Iago had said, if spitefully, that no lie could ever pass Emilia’s deleteriously honest lips, but she uttered the greatest lie ever told when she tried to make her smile real and assured the lieutenant that ay, all was well. But unlike other lies she had fed herself over the years, she could not bring herself to accept this one as truth--nor did she even seek to, within her heart of hearts. She was too tired to lie to herself and she was tired  _ of _ lying to herself...but to Cassio, she could not speak the truth, for Iago’s sake. She was not willing to be twice his damner.

“Ay, all is well,” Emilia assented, fearing vaguely that the assertion was no more convincing than was her forced smile, and finding that she could not look the lieutenant in the eye. “I thank you for your concern.”

What followed the watery gratitude was a silence that, so painful in its awkwardness, seemed to last forever, though its compass could not realistically have been more than a few seconds. Emilia felt Cassio’s gaze as if it burned into her skin with some divine, omniscient light that sought to purge all secrets from her, and in a moment of brazenness she looked up and met those eyes, finding a mixture of confusion and worry in them--as well as a clear knowledge that all was  _ not _ well, no matter what she said.

“...I beseech the knowledge of Desdemona,” Emilia said finally, desperately desiring to shatter the discomfiting interim. “Have you spoken with her, Cassio? Is she well?” Her fingers tightened around her husband’s as she voiced these questions, glad to divert attention away from herself and Iago. She was still his protectress, no matter what… But it was strange. Having come so close to losing him, she should feel even more determined to protect him, should she not? Instead, she felt...not burdened, but…

...Jaded. She felt, strangely, as though Iago tried to jump off cliffs as a daily occurrence, as though he were simply a child who ran away from his mother in the market to give her a fright. Once she was done feeling afraid, all she felt was weariness and a vacant, bitter sorrow.

  
  



	77. All Was Not Well

All was not well. Though Emilia spoke with voice unaltered, as calm and steady as was its wont, her eyes seemed to him dull and weary, pleading with all the passion of her heart that he not question her...that he take her pellucid falsehood as gospel truth. But how could he, when his heart longed only to bring to that broken soul some measure of comfort? How could he maintain that charade, that  _ farce _ , that she seemed so desperate to preserve, when it would only bring her further pain? Could he do that to her, a woman?  _ Emilia _ ? Could he dare?

...Aye. He could. If no good would come of Emilia's tenuous veneer of well-seeming, neither would any be wrought of its being torn down about her, revealing secrets she wished to keep locked away and he shuddered at learning. So he would keep his silence, he thought, however unwillingly, and leaver her...and her husband with her...be. He could make her burden that much easier to bear. Such was, after all, her due. 

"Desdemona is...well as can be expected," he replied, travailing to temper the look of concern that he could  _ feel _ himself giving her, no matter how much he knew she would despise the pity. "She is worried for you, as is her wont and right, and not, I think, so little put out by her husband our general's errant dismissal of her, however necessary he deemed such course be. Indeed, she was so grieved for you, my lady, so desperate to see to fruition your impassioned suit, that she confessed to me her desire to search for your husband herself." 

This latter comment was not so much as thought without a glance in Iago's direction. Though the former ensign seemed not even to hear what was being discussed right before him, Cassio wanted to take from him some measure of satisfaction in relating to the man what fears and troubles he had put them all through...the man merited such subtle chastisement, he was sure. 

"I know she awaits your return eagerly," he continued, shifting his gaze and attentions seamlessly back to Emilia, leaving her husband well forgotten. "You would do well to go to her...though she would, of course, understand if you felt...some other obligation...merited your attentions more...." 

He felt he had to say that...for devoted to her duty and marriage as Emilia was, he could not begrudge her that course, could not induce in her any measure of guilt for leaving her gentle lady for her undeserving husband. In faith, he was not so cruel a man as that.

  
  



	78. Nothing But Horrors

Though the lieutenant seemed determined not to bring attention to Iago through the mention of his name (and by heaven, Emilia was glad for it), it was obvious what Cassio was suggesting. She had wondered at it too, though she had not yet exacted it in her mind as a necessity. Should she tend to Iago before returning to Desdemona?

_ What a ridiculous question _ , her heart scoffed, for how could she look upon this broken creature, how could she feel these ice-cold hands, and  _ wonder _ if he needed her help? And yet, Iago had pulled himself away from the world--pulled himself away from  _ her _ \--and had ceased to speak or to make acknowledgement of aught within the realm of reality. He had not looked at her since he had stood at the edge of the cliff. He did not look at her now. His fingers, lifeless as they felt, were limp in her own. It did not seem that he wanted her.

And yet again, even if he did not want her, surely he  _ needed _ her. How could Emilia be so cruel, so unfeeling, as to leave her husband prey to those heartless demons that swarmed his mind and entreated him to destroy himself? Perhaps it was for pride that Iago claimed that Emilia could not understand his anguish, perhaps it was for some twisted form of vanity that he said she had no right to attempt comprehension--but regardless, it was true that she did not know his suffering. When she looked into those pale, ashen eyes, so much like ice now in their coldness and impassiveness, she could discern nothing but horrors: strange, frightful horrors that she had no access to.

Emilia was nearly certain that if she asked Iago herself if he needed her, he would either deny her an answer, or reply in the negative. More likely than either case, he would simply offer her some enigmatic statement to merely satisfy the inquiry: some “do what you will” or “it matters not”. She was too tired for such things.

“I will see to Desdemona soon,” Emilia said, managing to find a warmth in her voice, weary though she was. Pleading to heaven that Iago would give her a direct and honest answer, she leaned over and whispered in her husband’s ear, “Would you like me to stay with you for some time, Iago, or would you have me go?”

_ Do not respond to me with apathy, my husband… I cannot bear to see your spirit broken yet… _

  
  



	79. Dead Men Cannot Feel

She spoke, he realized, dimly, but he could make no sense of the words; he observed out of the edge of his eye the movement of her lips, but he saw only a stream of air drift forth from them, bypassing his comprehension entirely. She clutched her fingers more tightly about his, but he could not feel their weight. Her hands were dead in his...or perhaps, 'twas the other way 'round, for, in faith, he could not feel his own...but then...dead men had no weight to them, no substance. So, in troth, 'twas not so great a shock. 

...What did Emilia ask of him now? He could not well guess...there was a clamor resounding in his thought, fit to drown out any and all speech directed at him...and what thoughts, what thoughts! Mad as he had been, soulless as he was,  _ dead as he was _ , their composition and meaning eluded him (as did all, it seemed to what little of his mind retained its cold rationality). There abounded whispers of countless tones and tenors...Emilia, Othello, Roderigo: he could put face to them all, but could divine not what they said to him, of him.... There was a buzzing, a ringing, that seemed too well inclined to wreak some havoc of disorientation upon his senses...O, how fortuitous, that. Just what he needed at that moment. Truly. 

Then, beneath it all, he could but faintly discern a roar...some wretched, hoarse voice inarticulate and delirious with rage ungovernable....  _ Gaoler's roar, _ his prostrate rationality cautioned.  _ Voice of retribution, voice of ill intent come once more _ . He fancied it cried  _ coward _ , for being unable to jump, for being unable to reconstruct any conducive facade or charade... _ filthy, ill-gotten coward, rotten to the heart, damned to the core _ ...how could it bear to call him aught else? 

Indeed. So it was. He would take that abuse; he would: face the torment, the hatred, with head down and will resigned. He had done it afore...nay, all his cursed  _ life _ . Would it not be easier in the soul's death?  _ Dead men have no weight, no substance. Dead men cannot feel. YOU cannot feel. So feel you will not. Take your just desserts like a man, damn you. _

  
Emilia spoke yet, but Iago could not respond. The weight of reverie, deranged, twisted reverie, pressed him grave, made him deaf and blind and mute.... So. He could only shake his head, disagreeing with  _ he-knew-not-what _ , hoping the lieutenant would continue to bestow upon him his ignorance, his silence...praying Emilia would not question him...though in faith...she had never promised him  _ that _ . 


	80. Away, Away, Away

But how could she have expected him to respond in words, tormented as he was? Though Emilia had thought her heart long broken to splinters, or else long frozen by the coldness that was displayed to her, felt by her in her husband’s fingertips--her soul ached even now with Iago’s vacant, pained, nigh-imperceptible shake of the head. For all she knew, it could have simply been a passing shiver that Iago suffered at the hand of whatever ruthless winter possessed him now. It hardly seemed that he had heard her words, grasped their concept, formed an answer of his own cognition.

Perhaps he did answer her in troth, and perhaps he truly did wish her to leave him alone. It was not impossible...but her heart cried out against it; her very soul protested with every ounce of its existence. O, beating heart, O, living soul! Would that she could split each in two and give half of each to her husband, who had neither…!

Well...if it was so...if Iago was not bereft of wit just yet, if his answer had been relatively sound of mind, if he truly wanted her to leave him be...she would disobey. At this moment, greater responsibilities overshadowed the duty of wifely submission.

Emilia nearly gave a start when she looked up once more and found again the lieutenant, whom she had all but forgotten in her reverie. She gave a gracious, though hurried, curtsy and quickly mumbled some valediction or other before beginning to lead Iago away, away, away… And at once, she fancied that they had just left the edge of that damning cliff and that she had to bring her husband to safety as soon as possible. The pulse-quickening sensation, strange as it was, would not pass. Every footfall brought them no farther from danger; at every moment their footsteps fell upon a precipice. The firmament above was not the sky; it was sea, and the clouds were waves...waves…waves… Did they call now to  _ Emilia,  _ too?

Emilia stopped in the middle of the walk, for she realized that in her thoughtlessness she had begun to walk in the wrong direction. Her feet felt as lost as her soul.

  
  



	81. Dread Wonder

Had he been in a frame of mind more alert, more cognizant, he might have realized that Emilia's feet were leading them astray...for, it seemed, the gray stone towers of the Citadel were now behind them, not before...and surely that could not have been her intent. Well...perhaps it was, but...i'faith, he could see no reason in such a diversion. 

...Then again, he was in little condition to judge whether aught was, or was not,  _ reasonable _ . That he could admit so to himself by no means refuted the fact that his rationality was even now one of questionable composition...at best. At worst...forsooth, the worst would be for it be absent, dead, entirely...which did not seem an outcome at all favorable...but inevitable. Unfortunate, but inevitable all the same. 

But that now was of no import, was it not? By Heaven, if his blind corpse's eyes could glean their traveling in wrong direction, could not Emilia's divine the same? Why did she wander so, in such seeming confusion, when she had no cause for it?

Calling upon what little strength he had still left in him, he forcibly shook the stupor, the torpid fog of  _ la muerte viva _ from his fragmented mind, and faced Emilia, drawing breath to demand her why she took this ill-starred route, now, of all times....

...Only to meet her eyes. Her eyes, once so vibrant and warm, now lost and soulless and disquieted as his own. Her eyes, which had once held for him all the world's promises to keep, that now cast their tormented selves upon the ground, the horizon, the sky: aught but him, lost in their fevered visions of whose making he could not hope to guess. Her eyes, his saving grace...even now his damnation, his destruction, in their own imprisonment. Fear. Madness. Dread wonder. 

All the demons of the world lived in those eyes, and they traveled where he could not follow. Had be broken her so thoroughly, that she walked in this world of nightmares unforeseen? Or was she merely lost in thought, plagued by doubt, beset by fear and resolve warring bitterly? That in itself was enough of an abyss to walk beside...but he was powerless to help her, he thought bitterly. How could he, when he did, most likely, play some part in her distress? 

  
  



	82. The Flesh Is Weak

Even as Emilia stood with her footsteps fresh in her flesh’s memory, it seemed that she could not recall how she had come to stand  _ here _ \--outside the fortress, beyond the sanctuary she had yearned so to reach. She found herself glancing at her husband, with the faint hope of gleaning some sort of information from his gaze, but she found nothing. She saw nothing. With a kind of muted horror, she realized that the pale orbs, silvery and glassy, were mirrors, and that they reflected back to her what he saw in her own eyes. Nothing.

_ No…! No! I will not let this be…! _ The violent protest rose in Emilia’s throat, fought at her lips, though she knew not what she was opposing--she felt as if she were shrouded in darkness, beating her fists vainly upon some invisible enemy. Perhaps that was, indeed, what she fought--darkness. Darkness of heart, darkness of soul, darkness of mind and heart and soul…

She found that she had to physically close her eyes and shake her head to assert any effort to clear her thoughts.  _ Get Iago to safety _ .  _ Trust not your feet, Emilia, for the flesh is weak… _ She could not help but look at Iago as the statement passed through her mind, for it appeared to her that he thought she was taking him back to the cliff, that damned precipice that overlooked hell.  _ Never, Iago. I will lead you not into temptation...but I have not the power to deliver you from evil. _

Look toward the gates she dared not, for she could not bear the thought of the lieutenant watching them still, in this diseased state. “I beseech your pardon, husband,” Emilia spoke, though her tongue seemed to have trouble wrapping itself around the words. “I was not thinking. Let us away once more.”

She did not expect a reply this time, and instead focused herself solely upon their destination, their chambers, their sanctuary--where even within, they still were not safe.

  
  



	83. Trippingly On The Tongue

She spoke her speech as one dead drunk, trippingly on the tongue, slow to articulate and slower to wit, as though leaden weights, named sorrow, exhaustion, despair, hung from her blood-crimson lips.  _ Was not thinking _ , indeed. Nay, she  _ was _ ...but of what, he knew not, and to tell...verily,  _ she _ would not. Were she such a one of most open heart, inclined to relate all that passed her mind, she would not solicit a specter's advice. That she was not such a one, not for all the world...well, her silence would be expected. For her to break it would be most anachronistic indeed. 

...But yet...could he not ask? 'Twould not be meet to let  _ his own wife _ suffer in silence when, in rationality restored (partly...perhaps), he could do aught to ameliorate her troubles. Too often of late had he left her desolate to tend to his own... _ affairs _ ...of a soul's spiraling madness...when she merited not the fear, the isolation that wrought....

Of a sudden he felt a disgust with himself of such deleterious magnitude that he was forced to halt in his tracks. All of this...everything he had done, these two days past...for what?  _ For what? _ What had he achieved, what had he earned...? Demotion? Alienation? A petrified, lost wife, trapped in his madness of her own volition?  _ What had he done? What had he done? _

A vision swam in Emilia's eyes, looking into his own...absent. Haunted. A world of nothing lived in her eyes, and mirrored his... _ dos almas rotas, perdidas en la otra...nunca pueden volver a qué estaban...nunca...nunca.... _ Well. So it was. He had destroyed her, utterly and irreparably...what he could not remedy, he could share. He owed her that much, at least. 

"My pardon you shall receive, of course," he replied, noting how she started at the sound of his ravaged voice. "But...there is something...troubling you, I think...might I entreat you to relate this thing to me?" This monster in her thought, of his creation or her own...he would fain set it to rest, before his wits and heart left him bereft to traverse their sea of torment once more. After all, was it not a husband's duty, to protect a wife from monsters, no matter what facsimile of love, or hate, or aught between, lay beneath them?

  
  



	84. Your Will

It was after they had passed through the gates once more that Iago suddenly ceased to follow, his planted feet anchoring Emilia to the ground where they stood. The abruptness of the action elicited from her a slight gasp, and she was reminded of how they had been walking through the town when he had halted in such a fashion. Was he going to change their directions once more, both of feet and of fate? If he chose to drag her thus, she knew not if she had the strength to resist him—strength of heart, body, or otherwise...

Iago did not move. Every heartbeat that pounded in her ears seemed to be the passing of a fortnight, a month, a year... She slowly turned to face him. Then, without warning, his lips parted, his tongue began to function again, and he  _ spoke to her _ , and she did not know if she was startled more by the suddenness of his voice or by its hoarse and broken quality.

He first assured her that he would not withhold his pardon from her (it was a moment before Emilia realized what he was referring to, delayed as his reply had been), and then, in stunted phrase, he seemed to show concern for her state of being.  _ Seemed  _ to show concern, for Emilia hardly knew what to make of his speech.  _ I think there is something troubling you _ , quoth he, as if Emilia had not spent the past few days with a troubled mind. And then,  _ might I entreat you to relate it to me, _ as if he did not know!

_ What troubles me?  _ Emilia envisioned herself echoing, with arched brow and bitter smile.  _ Why, my husband tried to murder both himself and his soul not half an hour ago. And I don't suppose there is anything troubling you? _

She felt a faint amazement coupled with a heaping guilt, that she could still give consideration to sarcasm at such a time as this, but she dared not give the attack her voice. Iago had shown her a sign of vitality, however dim, with this watery and insubstantial vocalization of thought, and Emilia would not trod upon it for the world—not for happiness, not for love, not for eternal satisfaction. For how could she feel happiness, how could she feel love, how could she ever ignore the aching of a hungry soul, if she let Iago die?

_ O God, fill me from the crown to the toe top-full of sweetest gentleness... Let not me assist in his spirit's murder. Make me his restorer, and not his enemy. This man has injured me past all redemption, some might say, but I would not return him the injury—not now, not even if my very life and salvation depended upon it... _

Emilia inhaled deeply, and, summoning every thought of love she had within her, bestowed the kindest, warmest smile she could muster upon this man that she called husband.

“I will tell you honestly, Iago,” she said, soothingly, like one who sought to assure an affrighted child of its safety, though she could do nothing to hide the remnants of melancholy in her voice. “What troubles me is your will.” She paused, she blinked, her vision blurred.  _ Must I weep again? I thought that my tears had yet run dry. _ She swallowed, breathed, did not look away from his gaze. “...Your will to live.”

She had wept so much, as of late. What were a few more tears? She let them fall.

“I should not like to lose you, Iago,” she told him, never leaving those eyes, knowing not if he could even hear her now through the din of his warring mind. “I cannot bear the thought of surrendering you to your demons...to the waters...to anything.” She grasped the cold hands, hoping that she imparted some warmth to him from her own fingertips. “Yet...I fear...that one day I will not be able to hold onto you much longer. And what...O, help me, what will I do then?”

  
  



	85. Till Death Do Us Part

_ Crocodile tears _ , he almost wished to say, forcing himself to remain still as she took his icy hand in her own, chill with grief as they were...but he could not make his lips form the damning words. For they  _ were _ real; he knew it, could see it, as they slipped from those once-luminous eyes that had shed too many this day...'twas a wonder they were not dried up completely. 

Saturated with sorrow, they lay heavily upon his fingers as he wiped them dispassionately from her cheeks, hardly aware that he did so. They sparkled like diamond for one brief moment before their luster faded and perished, lost to the grime of his skin, devoid of any life...which in any case, seemed to have been bled out of her. For while her  _ tears _ might have been true, her  _ words _ , her  _ smile _ , rang false as the water that streamed forth from her treacherous eyes. 

Those eyes told all, so that he needn't have looked at the tenuous warmth of her upturned lips, needn't have heard the gentleness of her voice...no, they lied; shamefully and laboriously they lied, to him and to herself. The eyes held within them the bitterness, the harsh anger and cynical grief that she travailed and failed to keep from him carefully hidden. They raged at him even as they waged war with her own stricken heart, berating what sentiments lay within. 

It was not that she could not express said sentiments in temper loosed; she would fain have preferred to do so, and he would have it so, as well...for did she not suppress them for his own sake? He, the base wretch undeserving of the Devil's pity, instead received his wife's, of most tender kind?  _ Unwarranted! A lie, damn it, an odious, damned lie! _

...And yet lie it was not, withheld  _ it was not _ , and she expressed for him her concerns even above those of her own soul, which verily longed to cast his to Hell's blackest pits for so wounding her. He did not deserve her, he did not deserve her...why would she pray for his life? Why would she will his spirit to live, when she could instead have unleashed all her poisonous sentiment and be through with it all?

_ Her heart is entwined with yours, fool, subdued to the very quality of your own, do you not see? She cannot bear your soul's death, for it would mean her own! No matter how you have hurt her, no matter what disparagements, vituperations, curses she might wish to place upon your damned head, she remains ever at your side, because her heart knows no other place, DESIRES not other place! Would that it did, for the health of all, but IT DOES NOT, and YOU, selfish fiend, must contend with that! To lose yourself would be to damn her to an eternity of grief...undeserved grief, but it would not be helped! Can you, villain that you are, can even YOU bear to seal such an unhappy fate? _

"Be silent," he muttered, feeling tears of shame well up in his own eyes, and viciously fighting them back. Seeing Emilia's hurt look, though, after her words had done so much to spark such remorse, undid him, and he grabbed for her hands as she let his go, determined to set things right, for once in his miserable life. "Not you, Emilia...never you. I...." Well. He sighed then, heavily, knowing that he could not back out of this now. He would say what he needed to say... _ he would say what she needed to hear _ . 

"You will do nothing," he said, dread finality in his tone, "for you will not lose me in such a way as that. If to die would be to sign your seal of Death, then I shall remain by your side in opposition ere Nature collect its due."  _ Till Death do us part.... _ He had said those words once, had he not? Years ago...so many years...but he  _ had _ said them. Only now did he realize how much he meant them. 

"You do not deserve this grief," he murmured, fixing his gaze upon her shaking hands. "And I...I do not deserve your touch, for bringing it down upon you. But if it lies within my power to fight a soul's death...let these arms of mine lend what strength in them remains, to discourage such from my heart. For your sake, and your sake alone, will I do this. I swear to you."

The oath was faint: so faint, he could barely hear him own voice pronounce the words. But they were out. Whatever madness, whatever repentance had torn them from his heart,  _ they were out _ . He could only pray Emilia would take them to heart.

  
  



	86. Only For My Sake

Emilia felt a slight shock run through her, as if ice-cold water had begun to course through her veins, when Iago bid her be silent—but then he took it back, and she understood that the command was meant not for her, but for those monsters within his mind that troubled him so... She clasped his hands tighter even as she had begun to draw them away in her wounded surprise.

As Iago murmured his promise, so slight and so tenuous that it might have been made out of spiders' silk for all it was worth, Emilia found that his words did not move her. He refused to look into her eyes as he spoke; he turned his gaze to her hands and not the woman to whom they belonged... Why, O, why, did Emilia feel as though she were a figure carved of stone, impenetrable and completely immovable? As much as she wanted to believe what Iago said, she could not, as if his words were foreign to her, translated into the tongues of the dead and the soulless. His promise seemed to her as weak and as faint as his voice.

Indeed, too many promises had been broken.  _ I will do whatever is in my power to make sure I never have to see you suffer again _ , he had said. She had suffered much at his hand since then.  _ I know not when I will return, but know that I will _ , he had said. If she had not gone out to find him herself, would he ever have come back?

But...promises were not the same as expectations. Iago had never made her a promise that he could not keep, which frustrated her frightfully, but...there was something honest about that, was there not? Perhaps Iago lacked so much control that it was not in his power to save her from suffering. Perhaps Iago had not returned of his own volition, but did he not stand here before her? So he had not broken whatever scant promises he had made. However, he had, and always had, fallen short of whatever expectations she had had of him... But was that not a fault on her own part, for expecting too much of him...?

_...No _ , Emilia thought, her mind somehow seeming a perfect stillness of clarity.  _ Any woman expects her husband not to strike her. Any woman expects her husband not to leave in the middle of the night without word of return. Any woman expects her husband not to jump from a cliff...! _

Iago had disappointed her expectations, true. But he had never made her a promise that he knew he could not keep... Emilia drew a breath, and looked to her husband.

“...'For my sake, and my sake alone',” she repeated carefully, feeling her lips purse together in a quiet sort of sorrow. “Therein it lies, Iago. You live only for my sake. But to yourself...you are already dead.”

She paused, to let her words sink in. Then she took his hand silently and began to walk once more toward their chambers.

“...I will speak honestly to you, husband,” she said, softly, almost without intonation, for she could not identify what emotions they were that she felt at this moment. “I believe that you intend to make me feel better, and I also believe that you will not break your word...but somehow, in spite of this, your promise does nothing to reassure me.”

  
  



	87. Fate And Time

_ You are already dead. _ He had known it, of course he had...he had known it all this while, and yet to hear the words, the dread condemnation so expressly given, from  _ Emilia's  _ lips...well. Had his heart been yet a beating heart, it might have shuddered at the slight, cut to the quick by the dismissal. But then...it was not such a one, not now, and so to feel aught of pain, or injustice he could not do. 

If his words moved not her, neither did hers achieve so much in kind. So that she called him dead, that she took no stock in his promise, ill-gotten and ill-uttered as it was...naught withal could move him. No battles of conscience plaguing his wife's psyche could move him. Nor could the feel of her hand, leading him gently within door, nor the quietness of sorrow and rage in her voice...not even the demons that roared apace in his thought. Such it was. Therein lay nothing. 

Remorse, and desired reformation, and clarity of empathic soul had bereft him, fled to parts unknown...and he knew not whether they could again be recalled at Emilia's behest. So it was with heavy heart and numb mind that he gazed upon her, hearing her words fly forth from her lips, so disconsolate and troubled. She did not believe him, though she might once have wished to, might have wished to still. What did it matter to him? She had said it herself; he was dead. What man so dead could alter tenor of thought at whim or request?  _ Why, none. Why, none. _

"I know," he muttered, hearing in his voice a faint trace of sardonic bitterness, that naught of thought could quench. "And I did not expect you to believe me...so again, you give me too much of credit, too much of hope. Perhaps I spoke merely to reassure you, when of my words I meant none. Perhaps I spoke in troth. It matters not; I know as little as you do. Only Fate and Time can speak on this matter with more cognizance than we." Let them decide whether he would make good on his assurances...for, in faith, he lacked the will to decide here and now if he could.

  
  



	88. Wiles And Will

Fresh tears sprung to Emilia’s eyes as Iago spoke, and with them, a new verve that she knew not how to explain. It was as if the last ember of hope that she held on to had suddenly erupted in flame. She began to walk faster, and faster, as though increasing her pace might cause the energy to ebb, but eventually she knew that she had to speak. Her heart and soul compelled her.

She turned to Iago, her face contracted in tearful agony. “How can you say such things?” she found herself demanding, reprimanding. “Do you believe that fate and time are gods that rule over you? Do you not think that  _ you _ possess any control over yourself?” She searched his face, praying that she might see  _ something _ in those eyes,  _ anything _ . But still she felt that she was staring at a wall of stone, impassive and ominous and inanimate… She tore her gaze away, and the final flame began to die.

“...If you made the promise merely to reassure me, then it had been better you had said nothing at all,” she told him painfully. “I can tolerate empty promises in nearly all other cases, but...just...please. Not now.” Emilia closed her eyes and drew a breath. “...Not now.”

In spite of Iago’s deteriorated emotional state, to say nothing of his mind...his ability to convince her had not left him. Just a minute ago, Emilia would have nearly been ready to believe him, that he was truly willing to hold on to whatever was left, for her sake… Or perhaps it was not Iago’s wiles that made her believe, as much as it was her  _ will _ to believe that made her believe. Truly, she  _ did _ want to believe Iago. But now...she couldn’t. She didn’t even think she could bear to bring him back to their chambers, from whence this whole agony had been born.

It was not like Emilia to give up on anything, but she hardly felt like herself at this moment. “Iago,” she asked softly, “can you make it back to our room on your own…?”

  
_ On your own. _ The innocent words struck her heart with a blow that resounded of dreadful finality. She was leaving Iago to fend for himself, on his own. And yet, she could not will her lips to move and take back the damning words, not when escaping her husband’s presence might give her heart the chance to heal…


	89. Too Weary

She was resigned, he thought distantly, to the bitter unhappiness which suffused her sorrowed tone. Why else would she, that had promised with such fervor, such passion, to stay with him always, push him away, dismiss him out of desperation for her own soul's salvation? ...And yet he could not fault her that, could he? He  _ had _ brought this suffering upon her, after all; there was no use denying the obvious. Had their roles been reversed, he likely would have left her to mend the pieces of her shattered heart long ago in like resignation, without a second thought or a moment's remorse.

...What sort of man did that make him? Was he really so callous as all that, to even  _ hypothetically _ consider abandoning Emilia in that way? ... _ Ay _ . Even as she made herself acquiescent to forced distance, so too did he adopt dispassion as a primary practice. _ Heaven is my judge, not I, for love and duty, but seeming so, for my peculiar end.... _

Those words had been his once, long ago...or so it seemed, in light of all that had occurred since. Were they not such now, again? If that stated end was oblivion, that silent, blessed oblivion his bedeviled soul so craved...well, it would not be dissembled love he presented in pursuit of achievement, but rather, its abject lack. Perhaps his gaoler, that cursed slave, worked his cunning even now, forcing such strange and contrary words from his lips, expounding such anachronistic folderol precisely for the purpose of frustrating Emilia, aggravating and distressing her so that she might be willing to forsake her abiding vow, leaving him to the torment of solitude and the bliss of incognizance. 

It was a tempting thought...far-fetched, but tempting, and neither did he think that it was entirely without merit. For all that he had set his fortunes into the hands of Fate and Time, he did not truly believe that their dictates had aught of mark. His own will might have been wrenched about at the whim of self-deities in constant opposition...but they were still  _ him _ . What he had told Emilia had no foundation in sense. None whatsoever.

So perhaps he  _ was _ trying to rid himself of her, as much as she wished to take her leave of him. Perhaps all would seem better with distance, with time...doubtful. He had no faith in his faculties' ability to recover themselves ere long...but best leave Emilia to hers. She could, at least, mend her own heart. That was all that mattered; the living had all the world's right to healing. The dead had only the hope of Heaven to cure them of their ills...and he had long since given up on  _ that _ . 

"Of course," he replied, finally regain some measure of strength in his voice. "Do not trouble yourself for my sake. Get you hence to Desdemona; I doubt not that she is most concerned for you in your unwonted absence." ...But what if Othello should ask after him? Unlikely a possibility though that was...'twould be not meet to leave him bereft of assurance, for all that they had broken bonds once and for all. 

"Should the general...make any inquiries...you may...." Well. What should he say? Could he find it in him to face the ranks again, relegated as he had been, stripped of title and dignity and all withal? He had no doubt that the others would have accepted his demotion with what grace a soldier could possess-- after all, their place lay not in questioning the decisions of their commanding officers in such matters--, but...if they should discover all that had transpired....

_ Sod it _ . What did he care? What were they to him, but his comrades-in-arms? If he had their trust no longer, as he now lacked Othello's...well, the worse for him. He was only one more faceless infantryman among them now; they could despise him or respect him at their pleasure. It was only for doubt of his own condition that he should balk at all when faced with the idea of returning. Sooner or later, he would have to face what he had done, what it had wrought.  _ Pray it be later...I cannot face it now...I am too weary...WE are too weary.... _

"Tell him what you will, if he should ask," he concluded, all vivacity gone from his tone, leaving only a prostrated facsimile of anger in its wake. "I only ask that you relate none of this...." Whatever  _ this _ was, that had just befallen them...this madness, this tension, this sorrow. That need not grace the minds of any other.

  
  



	90. Exeunt

He spoke so distractedly that Emilia could not shake the horrible, nagging feeling that she had betrayed him. She looked dispiritedly into his eyes. How could it be that he could still retain some measure of kindness in his tone, at a moment such as this? And for how long had she yearned to receive kindness from him? But as much as some part of her protested against her leaving of him, she simply nodded. This was a broken sort of kindness, only present because he lacked the energy to treat her with malice.

“I will tell no more than is necessary,” she murmured softly, for that was the one thing that stood out to her in this hurricane of confusion. What would have happened, if Emilia had not confessed Iago’s abuse in the first place? Most likely, none of  _ this _ … But Emilia wished she possessed a clairvoyant’s eye--for who could tell if this hell was a worser one than the hell she would have suffered if she had left Iago’s transgressions to pass unpunished? At the very least, Emilia was sure that Iago would not dare strike her again, for remembrance of these unhappy consequences…

But she was not sure. Iago was too unpredictable; too wayward. He struck as suddenly as did a tempest, just when she thought she was sailing upon smooth waters. At this moment, the air was silent, but it was thick and pregnant and it buzzed with electricity… Emilia could never be certain.

She grasped her husband’s hand without meeting his eyes, gave it a short squeeze, and hurried away from the storm.

Hardly looking where she was going, and determined not to look back, Emilia finally sank down upon the bench in the garden. She did not possess the strength of mind at this moment to speak with Desdemona just yet… But as she lifted her head, she realized that the bench had not been unoccupied when she sat down, for there beside her was the young soldier who had discovered Iago.

  
  



	91. Beyond All Hope (Of Recognition Or Repair)

She left with such haste that he did not think the Devil himself could pay her off to look back...but then, that was to be expected, was it not? Even the most steadfast, most love-ensnared hearts would be fairly begging for reprieve after such a harrowing experience as this...and he was certain that  _ Emilia's _ heart was none such, no matter what claims she made to the contrary. I'faith, he could not fault her this: this desire, this  _ need _ to escape to the aegis of blessed solitude. Too often had he taken refuge within its silent confines...why should he begrudge Emilia the pleasure of that most revered and cursed state?

Even as she turned from him, so too did he from her, making his unsteady way back to their chambers with nary a care or cognizance of any that dared lay eye upon him. Genial, concerned, edged with suspicion; they meant naught to him, and looked to be the same, all: absent. Chimerical. Just one more illusion conjured by the fevered hand yet working, crafting spells of sight in his dead man's mind. 

...The chamber was smaller to him than ever, once he sequestered himself within, and as he sank onto the narrow bed, he could feel the rough press of stone about him on all sides, chafing his skin, forcing sluggish and cold veins to weep their tears of strident red, burying itself deep, deep within him, through skin, muscle, bone...down to his very soul, whose dual heads reared and cried out in fear unadulterated, begging to be returned to life, to light, as the weight of uncaring rock crushed them beyond all hope of recognition or repair.

***********************

  
  


The effulgent glow of the late morning's sun kissed Roderigo's cheeks as tenderly as would an indulgent lover, lending unto them some measure of warmth that the damned beard, so very vexing in its foreignness, denied him. Sitting back upon the cold stone of the garden bench, he felt a contentment that had been bereft him since arriving in this godforsaken place, and he allowed himself to revel, if briefly, in the knowledge that his services were not required within the war-mongering walls of the Citadel for  _ just that much longer _ . 

So great was his tranquility that he heard not at all the soft footsteps and rustlings heralding the arrival of another in his sanctuary yet private. In faith, the figure seemed to appear from nowhere, wraithlike in all but identity, and-- though he would be ill-inclined to admit to the fact-- he jumped at the sight of it, higher than he'd ever thought himself capable of doing. A sort of undignified squeak burst forth from him unbidden, and he clutched one soft hand to his chest in shock, staring at the newly arrived figure with abject indignation.

"Does your business always entail the startling of unsuspecting leisure-takers?" he asked, petulant and cross, but no sooner had the words escaped his errant lips before he recognized the slight, indisputably  _ female _ form before him, with her smooth skin ash-pale, her luminous eyes weary and perturbed, her dark curls all askew....

_ Iago's wife _ . This was  _ Iago's wife _ , and he had spoken to her as though she were some...some carking page!  _ Heaven _ , but he was in for it now; that slight would come back to haunt him, he was sure of it!

  
"My lady, forgive me," he exclaimed, all but leaping to his feet (though perhaps  _ stumbling  _ would be closer to the truth) in an effort to make amends for his blunder. "I meant not to speak so harshly; by my troth, I recognized you not! I hope you will not take offense...."


	92. Stay Your Apologies

Emilia recoiled sharply upon hearing the incompassionate words, but as she looked upon the lad a look of realization dawned on him--soon followed by one of fear. Though the soldier was a man, albeit a young one, in his attitude and personal bearing he seemed to her but a boy.

“Nay, stay your apologies,” Emilia said kindly, cutting him off. “Surely I am not worth so much distress. My name is Emilia, and I am but a soldier’s wife. You needn’t worry yourself on my account; I am confident you meant me no ill will.” She smiled at him, but O, how tired and ragged her voice seemed to sound… She focused her energy on making the poor fellow feel welcomed.

“I must thank you, sir, for finding my husband Iago,” she continued placidly. The young soldier had a very innocent appearance, with a soft complexion and large brown eyes, that she found very endearing. Demeaning as it might be, seeing as the soldier was probably in his early twenties at least, Emilia decided that he must have been a precious thing during his childhood. A mother might be proud to have such a beautiful babe.

Emilia silently and discreetly scolded herself for thinking in such a ridiculous fashion, but her thoughts had been so heavy as of late that she could hardly fault herself. But it was true that appearances could be deceiving. Certainly this youth knew how to be rude, when he wanted to be. Still, that was nothing new amongst men.

“May I ask your name?” Emilia gave the soldier a gentle smile, willing to forgive him a fault when she still owed him so much more. After all, he had found her husband.

  
  



	93. Lucentio

_ His name _ .... Roderigo bit his nether lip in sound disquiet, chiding his puerile nervousness even as his thoughts seemed of a sudden to run screaming and flailing amok in his mind, futilely contemplating answer. Why, O  _ why _ did  _ everyone _ he made contact with of late have to be so  _ very _ solicitous of his  _ name _ ? Really, it was not like he could just  _ tell _ anyone; he was in  _ hiding _ , for God's sake-! 

...Though Emilia wasn't to know that, surely. In faith, she seemed entirely incognizant of his true identity-- O, bless'd, bless'd Fortune that be, that the usurped beard worked its purpose so well! Still, she  _ did _ know him, if barely...well, knew  _ of _ him, at least (for he did but doubt that Iago would be one to confide in his wife regarding the actions and statuses of his acquaintances), and therefore he could not in conscience tell her 'Roderigo,' and expect to beg her leave without repercussion. 

Heaving a slight sigh, and hoping that the lady in her anachronistic weariness would not mark the noise, he returned her smile, feeling once more the dreadful scratching of the beard upon his cheeks as it moved upon his face. He really would have to speak with Iago about finding for himself a guise less inclined to leave such constant discomfort in its wake....

"Lucentio," he said, smooth and pleasant as ever an honest liar was. "My name is Lucentio, lady, and I must tell you that it was no great travail, for me to seek your husband out. I do know Iago well and would do much to keep him from trouble...and to keep his wife from distress, of course!" ...No harm in...stretching the truth a bit, was there? After all, nothing he had said was an abject  _ lie _ , per se. He  _ did _ know Iago well (at least...as well as anyone could know the man), and he  _ did _ desire to keep him from trouble (knowing that trouble for himself would only follow, and being ill-inclined to undergoing tribulation of any kind). Out of care for a friend (and his own skin), not for a comrade in arms, but...all was one. What did it matter? Then, too, did he truly cringe at the thought of seeing staid Emilia in anguish, as he would have balked at any lady's woe. He would be a very villain else. 

  
  



	94. A Silvered Tongue

There was something exceedingly superficial in Lucentio’s voice that cause Emilia to raise her brow slightly. Perhaps it was because of his previous outburst that she thought so; it had certainly been much less courteous than his current speech. This aloof falseness felt oddly familiar… Emilia smiled in spite of herself.

“You are from Venice, are you not?” she asked, amusement playing upon her lips. She recognized it now; his manner of speech was exactly that of a highborn Venetian--a patrician’s son, perhaps. Why this young man was in the army, she had no idea. Soldiers were typically coarse; not particularly well-off. Lucentio hardly fit these generalizations.

“I recognized it by your speech. Venetians often talk too much and say very little. Or they speak too little and say nothing at all,” Emilia commented with a jesting glance. She smoothed out her gown confidentially. “I, for one, speak far too much, according to those who know me; but then again, I always have much to say. You need not waste words on me, sir; I appreciate genuity far more than a silvered tongue.”

  
  



	95. My Flattery Flatters Not You

Roderigo cast his eyes upon the ground in a sort of shame that came nearer to self-reproach than aught that had preceded it in his young life. Truly, the lady's was a keen wit, dashed with more of skepticism than befitted one of her sex, and rather too discerning to be trifled with. That she could with such facility see through his genteel verbosity to pluck from his speech alone his place of origin...good faith, no such churl was he, so to begrudge the lady her soundness of judgement. In troth, it likely surpassed his own....

Well. That was to be expected; after all, was not the lady espoused to a man of equally forthright acuity? Roderigo could admit to't easily enough when Iago confounded him with the strange and restless machinations of his mind. Why should he not do the same for Emilia, when she had stripped him of his layers of protective propriety and hagiography to trump him with such gentle poise?

"Then is veracity my greatest friend and bedfellow this day, lady, if my flattery flatters not you," he replied, laughing softly with a sort of self-deprecating charm he had not known he'd possessed. "You have me, completely. I am indeed from Venice, and have resided there for all my years until now." 

And, in faith, he had  _ intended _ to remain there, preferably with Desdemona by his side and on his arm! But instead, he had been made to come  _ here _ , to this  _ Godforsaken _ island, being bought off and robbed blind with every passing turn, for a love he was not even sure was requited!

...But then...his patience would win out in the end, would it not? Iago would succeed in winning him his love; he had never failed before. Forbearance was a virtue, without doubt...and 'twould be not meet to burden Emilia with these weighty ruminations, when they were but his own to bear and rectify. 

  
  



	96. On Appearances

The victory in guessing the soldier’s homeland correctly, however slight it was, brought a triumphant look into Emilia’s eyes. “I knew it then. Venice is a beautiful place, as far as appearances go, but there are flaws that hide under the surface. Or sometimes, they simply hide in plain view. For instance, the majestic canals that are our pride have an unfortunate inclination toward giving off an offensive odor.” She laughed. It had seemed like forever and a day since Emilia had been able to exchange banter with someone, and she hardly knew why she was able to do so now. Surely, it was now that she should be worrying the most, what with all that had transpired in recent times… But it all felt so nightmarish and horribly dreamlike, that Emilia was half-convinced it was all a dream. In any case, what her mind yearned for most was an escape, and she had found it in words.

“Venetians are rather the same,” Emilia added after a silence. “Not about the offensive odors, I mean, although sometimes that may apply.” She gave a wry smile. “I mean about appearances… In large cities, people are very concerned with the way that they appear. I do like the cities...but I appreciate the honesty and humility of the soldier. He doesn’t need all that which others thrive on--luxury, drunken revelry, women… He goes without, for the good of his people, for what he has is an honor that cannot be attained through riches. He devotes himself to a purpose and if he must die for it, then so be it.”

_ Iago… _

Emilia shifted her gaze to the ground and smiled disconsolately. “I apologize, I don’t even know what I’m talking about anymore.”

  
  



	97. On Oxymorons

"Apologize not," Roderigo replied swiftly, his tone of voice softening inadvertently as he shuffled tentatively closer to Emilia and placed a hand meant to be reassuring, yet quaking with nerves, upon the bony jut of her knee. "Your words retain sense yet; there is no need to decry them so!"

...Were he to be honest, though...her words discomfited him soundly. Such a vehement dispraiser of the artifice and vanity that had suffused and formed a sizable majority of his life evoked naught in him but a sense of self-debasement, one that he found tiresome in th' extreme by sheer virtue of its lack of  _ sense _ . After all, were not men inherently  _ subject  _ to partaking of such visceral and ignominious pleasures as  _ luxury, drunken revelry _ , and  _ women _ ? 

Women were meant, by God and all His wisdom, to be chaste creatures, paragons of virtue, but  _ men _ ? Well. Therein lay goodly opposition indeed. That Emilia, a soldier's wife, learned and jaded in the ways and means of the world, could think with such  _ naivety _ that men of her husband's condition were in any way  _ exempt _ from acting upon those sorts of temptations in lieu of loftier pursuits...in faith, such a man did not exist, that could so resist!

But then...there was said to be honor among thieves, and gentleman among mountebanks, too...and who was he to assert that all were as they seemed? There would be wanton women aplenty, in the world's time, and equal score of righteous men: decent whores, human dogs, and false friends, too. He knew this, all, perhaps more than aught other from the events of these few days and nights past, and so how could he, in faith, begrudge Emilia these her convictions? Perhaps there truly  _ were _ some such as she described running about: the selfless, the ambitious, the devoted, the ascetic. Being none such himself, how could he say for surety whether they lived and breathed or not?

  
  



	98. The Art Of Enigmatic Speech

Emilia hefted a small sigh, offering the young soldier her weary smile. “How kind of you to say so,” she replied in a lilting way. “Though I’m afraid I must ask: what is it that brings  _ you _ to the battlefield? You seem--”

She paused, not wanting to offend the lad; nor did she want to seem prone to generalization. She had been about to describe him as “soft”, or “innocent”--but surely no man, young or otherwise, wished to have his masculinity threatened in such a way.  _ You are too honest, Emilia _ , she scolded herself.

“You seem...unlike the other soldiers,” she said finally, almost playfully, letting him make of that what he would. The art of enigmatic speech she had learned well from years of marriage to Iago. “It seems to me that a youth of similar standing as you would have a much brighter future than the long, hard years of war. You seem a refined young gentleman.” Her lips formed a teasing smile. “Have you not a family business? Have you not a gentle mistress back in Venice? Such ties usually stay the more privileged men from the soldier’s life.”

How strange it was, that this man had become a soldier, if Emilia’s guess was correct and he was indeed a patrician’s son. And yet...how fortunate. Perhaps Providence had guided him toward this fate that he might save Iago...if only for a little while.

  
  



	99. False, False Words

Though Emilia's words were vague, and sportive yet, they nonetheless struck the faintest chord of trepidation into his heart, chilling him from the inside out.  _ Unlike other soldiers _ , said she, but he had  _ see _ that flash of doubt in her scintillating eye, that execrable incredulous spark that bespoke some inability in her to perceive in him a measure of fighting spirit, or worldly strength, or aught withal...and though he knew himself to lack any semblance whatsoever of those anticipated characteristics, he could not help but rail against the fact that said lack was, apparently, so very public as that. 

Still...she retained diplomacy yet, and, slighted as he was, he had to extend to her his gratitude that she kept those ungracious thoughts hidden away in her own mind, for the most part. It would be meet, perhaps, for him to feign ignorance of his recognition of her scorn, that he might maintain some semblance of his dignity; let it not be said that naivety, affected or not, was always an ill. 

"Usually, perhaps," he replied, his tone, haply, matching hers in lilting jest. "But then, lady, you said so yourself; I am not like other soldiers. Perhaps I am unlike others of the patriciate, too, in that regard." ...Well. If ever he could have professed to be inclined to invention, the time would be now. Then again, there was neither sense nor satisfaction to be found in giving pause to his connivances, harmless as they were. He was not noble, being one to abandon civilization and privilege and stability in his trade for the horrid art of war; he was not a patrician, famed for wealth and influence and exclusivity. But he could be. Just this once, when Emilia knew not who he was in full, he could be. And that was enough.

"My family's business typically stays me quite," he continued, determined not to make a fool of himself in maintaining such an anachronistic ruse. "But some gentle mistress I have none...none that will grace me with any more than the day's time, at least, and so I seek glory for my family and country, instead, in the fields of battle, when I cannot attain it elsewhere." 

O false, false words! ...But they image they afforded him quickly checked all of remorse he might once have felt at the uttering of them.

  
  



	100. Hungry Hopes

A romantic tale, was it not? A young soldier, spurned by young women, seeking recognition for his name and his homeland in the clash of war. Romantic...but romance could do little when met with the harshness of stark reality. Emilia knew that much.

“If you seek glory through rank, it may be some years yet before you find your reward,” she advised the youth matter-of-factly. “My husband has served for several years, ever since he left boyhood and was first a man, and still he has done no better than ensign. And through no fault of his own, mind you,” she added, silently lamenting that the words she spoke were of the past, for now Iago was no longer ensign, and most certainly through fault of his own… Nay, nay, she would dare to believe him innocent yet…!

“Michael Cassio, who was but unfamiliar to this army until times recent, was made lieutenant. It seems to me that things are not always as fair as we think they ought to be.” Emilia paused to reflect on her words. “And yet, sometimes what is unfair is not always what is unjust,” she asserted mildly. “Lieutenant Cassio is a fine officer to the general, and I’m sure he was chosen for justifiable reasons.”

Iago would beg to differ, Emilia knew. But surely she was allowed to have her own opinion. Her husband could not strip her of that right.

“In any case, I would suggest that you not feed your hungry hopes overwell,” she told him. “The imaginative are too often disappointed.”

  
  



	101. Wasted

Roderigo laughed slightly at her (admittedly wise) words, perceiving in them a slight which he knew she had meant not. Certainly Emilia would have no way of knowing what a fruitless endeavor his own besotted imagination had led him to.  _ The imaginative were too often disappointed _ \- ha! If  _ disappointed _ marked the worst of words she could lay upon the appellation, then what did that make him, trodden upon and rent asunder as he was by a love that he had wasted all his heart's hope upon?

Indeed, he would say wasted. Fool he might be called yet, but blind he was not, and it was becoming clear to him that Desdemona, sweet, exquisite Desdemona, noted him not,  _ loved him not! _ Lacking aught of reassurance or reward, he was beginning to feel every bit the fool he had been taken for too many times...though not without reason; he could grant the world that much of precision. 

Defrocked military officer he was not, but spurned lover he  _ was _ , and of a sudden he could empathize with Iago's plight with a clarity he might ne'er have professed to command afore. Was this bitterness, then, and disappointment, that rendered him thus anguished; that made the world to turn off-kilter beneath his feet until his station could be avenged and set to rights? Was this black and hopeless despair the fiery chasm whence bedeviled thoughts arose? God, but it did not seem so far-fetched....

"You speak true, lady," he replied, feeling his lips quirk into a sardonic shape unfamiliar to them until now. "Whether one's aspirations heed more the call of love, or rank-- and I, rather gladly, cannot claim the latter in any capacity--, they cannot be set so high as to be disappointed ere they had the chance to lift wing. Only fools would aim thus." ...That he was one such need ne'er be known. 

  
  



	102. Fools' Games

A saddened smile met Emilia’s lips. If it was foolish to foster hopeless hopes, why then, she was undoubtedly a fool. But how could she do otherwise? What sort of trampled victim would she be, if she succumbed to the blackness of bleak circumstance and allowed it to pull her life and breath from her lungs? For hope was life, hope was breath; a man could not live, though he were rich and well-fed and lacking in nothing, if he did not have hope. Nor could a woman.

“Ay, only a fool desires what he knows is beyond his grasp,” Emilia conceded wistfully, pulling an embroidered handkerchief from her sleeve and smoothing it between her fingers. “And I believe that renders every human, man or woman, a fool.” She folded the piece of cloth carefully into halves, then into fourths, absentmindedly.

“In fact, the only things we ever want are the things we cannot have,” she speculated. “Once we have what we want, there is always something more. It is the plague of fallen grace that we should never be content with what we have.”

Emilia unfolded the embroidered handkerchief and turned it over in her hands, finally looking down upon it with an impassive glance. She had done the stitches herself while idle; she could remember the very time and place. It had been several years ago. It had not been long after Iago had been promoted to ensign; it had been still early enough that he was proud of the position and did not loathe it as he had done recently.

Once we have what we want, there is always something more.

But what Emilia remembered was that the city had just entered a time of peace, and that Iago was to return home to Venice, and that she was to see him that evening, after many evenings without him. She remembered sitting in a wooden chair, in a corner, with the last light of sunset streaming through the window, and a busy needle between her fingers. She remembered daydreaming of children, and that was why she had stitched a cherub in the corner of the handkerchief. She had hatched the brilliant idea of presenting it to her husband as a gift, and did so gaily, but he had dismissed it as impractical, for what use did a soldier have for a kerchief with the emblem of a tiny, winged, and naked babe?

This solemn reminiscing disheartened Emilia. It seemed to her that this handkerchief no longer belonged to her, but to a person of the past. A person who still held innocence.

And so, she slipped the napkin into the palm of the young soldier who did not believe in fools and failure, for now it was his.

  
  



	103. What Is Yours

The cool press of soft fabric startled him from whatever miserable reveries had silenced the sound of Emilia's (no doubt wise) words from his hearing, and Roderigo started but slightly, fingers closing reflexively about the napkin as he cast upon it a bemused stare.

The trinket was cut of pale flax, so much rougher and more pliant than the pristine white linen of his own. A small, winged figure lay at rest in one corner, each stitch delicately, precisely placed, wrought of thread the color of fresh mustard-seed, a smile begetting mischief upon its minuscule lips, plump child's hands outstretched towards an invisible Heaven within the weave. 

It was an odd little thing, a trivial one, but there was a sort of quiet beauty in the stitching that even his soul, ill-accustomed to articles so mean as this, could find within itself to appreciate. So much of time and love had been woven into this: time, love, and the innocent hope of those not yet burdened by life's sorrows and cares. Such a precious commodity, innocence: more dear than a thousand handkerchiefs such as this, and it could be stolen away with such dread alacrity, one might ne'er note its passing....

Just so. But then, that was but a part of its composition, and where such introspection had made his head spin afore, he could not now find it in himself to continue in this vein, lest he stand to unravel the very fabric of what had comprised his entire foundation of beliefs. No matter that its symbol was one of such poignancy to make his heart cry out, it was a  _ trifle _ . A...a poor trinket given him from a woman equally so, and he could  _ not _ , for the  _ life _ of him, make known to himself  _ why _ she would present it to him....

"Lady, this is yours," he said, with all the gentility and graciousness he possessed. "I cannot, in faith, accept it, not with so little of percipience as to your purpose!" More gently, he added, "Why have you given me this? Surely it is of great import to you...?" 

  
  



	104. Tokens Of Trifles

“My husband is of great import to me,” Emilia found herself answering lithely, “and you have recovered for me my husband. I ask that you receive this as small recompense and as a token of my friendship.” It would be of little use to try to explain the other sentiment, the one that seemed to create in the lad a reflection of her former self. It would be silly to attempt to communicate such an abstract concept.

“And you mustn’t refuse my gift out of concern for my loss,” she told him. “I have a dozen more and I can always make another. Alas, we poor ladies, that whilst men occupy their time with important offices and sieges of war, we must find our primary entertainment in trivial housework.” She pursed her lips with mock ruefulness, and suddenly rediscovering her teasing wit, looked at Lucentio playfully.

“Since you have no lady, sir, you might want to keep such a trifle in some over-conspicuous place,” she suggested. “That way, you could flaunt it and pretend that not I, but a lover had given it you.” She chuckled gaily before a wave of modesty washed out the unrestrained smile. “Of course, if you do not want the kerchief at all, I understand. Soldiers are not particularly enamored with flying babies, as my husband made known to me once.”

  
  



	105. Plights And Tribulations

"No, no," Roderigo replied hastily, flushing a bit from the implications of Emilia's jests sequestered within his mind's lovelorn discourse. "'Twould be my greatest pleasure to keep this which you have made." Tamping forcibly down the embarrassed which so blatantly colored him, he added, with a small, antic grin, "If your husband be not one to value the cares woven throughout women's work, and will disparage flying babes without so much of remorse or regret, allow me to assume the duty to do what he cannot."

Truly, he did not like the kerchief overmuch, but to see her unhappy was nothing he could not bear, and never could have. He had never known Emilia well, had never exchanged words with the lady, had rarely seen her about, but she was a good woman, he knew: a good wife with a steadfast heart. Even now, there was so much of worry in her countenance, and bitter, weary sorrow, that all within him that called itself gentleman felt sorely obliged to alleviate some of that distress, by whatever means necessary. If accepting this small bagatelle that had been denied a love's possession in the past was the least he could do, he would. He was not so invested in his own plights and tribulations that his heart could not find way for hers.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end as we know it! This last chapter was mine; Jess was meant to write the next one, but sadly disappeared off the face of the earth. We'd had some crack-ass plans for what might happen next, but, given that this has been on a 5-year hiatus, I'll leave you guys to imagine your own ending. 
> 
> To those people that have followed this project from the beginning, and to folks that popped in midway through, thank you so much for your kind words! I'm so glad someone was able to enjoy the product of our teenage dramatics. We had a ton of fun writing this, and the fact that other people had fun reading it means so much. <3


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